


The Angel of Dunkirk

by imnotokaywiththerunning



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gen, Good Omens Big Bang, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World War II, depictions of battle scenes, it all works out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotokaywiththerunning/pseuds/imnotokaywiththerunning
Summary: TV verse AU Springtime 1940: Hitler's army has started its march across Europe and Aziraphale is worried. Another war so soon after the last was almost unbearable. He and Crowley have decided to stay well out of it, but a visit from the Archangel Gabriel sends Aziraphale headfirst into a war he never wanted to see.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 44
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Good Omens Big Bang.  
> The amazing [Electra Rhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/works) did the gorgeous artwork. Go find her amazing art [here](https://twitter.com/electra_rhodes/status/1222206558685290496).  
> A special thanks to [Soaponarope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soaponarope) for the excellent beta. Without their help, this fic probably wouldn't be finished.
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imnotokaywiththerunning)

**Early Springtime, 1940**

**London**

The bell above the door to A. Z. Fell and Co. Antique Booksellers rang out merrily. Mr. Fell, proprietor of said bookshop, frowned into his mug of cocoa. Just what he needed. A customer. Was it not enough that the world seemed hell-bent on destroying itself with yet another war? Could these humans not leave him alone with his books?

“Be with you in a moment,” he called out in a cheery voice, with absolutely no intention of being with them in a moment. If he stayed in his backroom long enough, whoever it was would grow tired of waiting and leave. It was one of his favorite techniques. He could outwait almost anyone. A perk of being an angel on Earth. He settled more snuggly into his wingback chair with his book and cocoa.

“Aziraphale.” The voice came from behind him. 

Aziraphale jumped, knocking his carefully placed mug of cocoa onto the floor. He watched it shatter on the ground in slow motion. “Oh,” he groaned. That had been his favorite mug. Then, “Oh!”

He turned to find a handsome square-jawed man dressed in an impeccably tailored suit standing in the previously empty doorway to his backroom. Aziraphale froze instantly. He stood to attention, clasping his hands in front of himself, and smiled at his unexpected guest. “Ah, Gabriel. To what do I, uh, owe the pleasure?”

Gabriel beamed. “Aziraphale, I bring good news!” he said in an enthusiastic American accent. 

He laughed at the joke as old as time itself. God’s Messenger Gabriel might be, but he could definitely work on his stand-up, Aziraphale thought ungraciously. Gabriel’s smile grew even brighter. 

“Never gets old, does it?”

“There’s certainly something to be said for the traditional,” Aziraphale hedged. Gabriel waved his hands about grandly, and Aziraphale heard the sound of porcelain being put back together behind him. A glance told him that his angel wing mug was whole again. 

“Nevertheless, I do bring you some good news in these troubling times,” he said and then frowned, distracted. “The humans certainly do seem to love their wars, don’t they?”

Aziraphale glanced over to his desk and the open newspaper he had been reading earlier. He sighed, “They do, rather.”

“Well,” Gabriel continued, stepping closer into Aziraphale’s space. He towered over Aziraphale. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

“It isn’t?” Aziraphale asked. He’d always tried his best to help humans in times of war. He thought it his duty as a Principality. Guidance and protection were built into his very being, after all.

“Humans will do what they do, Aziraphale. It is not Heaven’s job to interfere,” Gabriel said sternly. “But it is your job to keep tabs on the demon Crowley, and by the looks of it, you’ve lost him.”

“I’ve--what?” Aziraphale had just seen Crowley three weeks ago. They’d gone to lunch and come back to the bookshop for a delightful evening of wine and conversation. 

Gabriel grimaced. “There’ve been reports of demonic activity all along the front line in Europe. We suspect that he’s been helping the German army in some way. They’re much farther along than they should be at this point.”

That didn’t sound like Crowley at all. In fact, the last time Aziraphale had seen him, Crowley had sworn he was going to stay well out of this war.

“The humans _just_ had a war,” Crowley had whined. “Why do they need another one?”

“Are you quite sure that Crowley is responsible?” Aziraphale asked. “War isn’t exactly his area of expertise.”

Gabriel eyed Aziraphale shrewdly for a moment. “How would you know about his area of expertise, Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale chuckled nervously, wringing his hands. “Well, I have been here on Earth as long as he has. We’re bound to pick up _some_ information about each other.”

“Of course.” Gabriel smiled, his eyes crinkling. “You would know more about that than I do. But on to the good news!” He made a complicated gesture with his hand and pulled a manila folder from thin air. He handed it to Aziraphale with a smile. “I think you’ll like this.”

Aziraphale frowned as he read over the files in the folder. This couldn’t be right. He looked up at Gabriel inquisitively. “I thought you didn’t want me to interfere in the war?” 

“We don’t.”

“Then why have me join the British Army?” None of what Gabriel was saying made any sense. “Wouldn’t that be considered interference?”

Gabriel sighed and patted Aziraphale’s shoulder patronizingly. “Your only objective is to find the demon Crowley and neutralize him however you see fit. We just thought that putting you in the army would be the easiest way for you to do that. There are already plenty of soldiers in France. What’s one more?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously. The last thing he wanted was to be directly involved in the humans’ war. He preferred working on the sidelines. “But I haven’t _been_ a soldier in quite some time.”

“Oh there’s no need to worry there, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said brightly. “You were one of the best soldiers to wield a sword in the Almighty’s name.”

Aziraphale very nearly scoffed but turned it into a faint grin at the last moment. “They don’t exactly use swords nowadays.”

Humans had moved well beyond swords. They had guns and gas and bombs. They’d done what they’d always done and industrialized killing one another. It made Aziraphale slightly sick to think about it. 

But Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Relax, Aziraphale. This’ll be a piece of cake for you, right?” He laughed, lightly punching Aziraphale’s ample gut. Aziraphale fought the urge to bat his hands away. It was an old jab at his perceived softness. “Once a soldier, always a soldier,” Gabriel continued. “It’s not like that’s something you can forget.”

“R-right,” Aziraphale said with what he hoped was a confident smile. As much as he hated it, Gabriel was right. Being a soldier wasn’t something so easily forgotten. No matter how much one tried. 

“I knew we could count on you, Aziraphale.” Gabriel smiled again, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let me know when you’ve gotten your commission.” He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Aziraphale watched in silence as Gabriel left the shop. He looked again at the folder in his hands. He’d hoped to stay out of this one. He’d run himself nearly ragged in the last one, the Great War. He sighed. Well, the first thing he was going to do was check up on Crowley. With any luck, he was just sleeping in his flat. And Aziraphale would be able to stay home in his bookshop and hope to avoid the oncoming war for as long as he could. 

* * *

**France, Central Front, near Sedan**

Crowley ducked as another wave of gunfire sailed over his head. This was ridiculous. Why was he even here? This whole war had been the humans’ idea in the first place. What business did a demon have here, now? It’s not like he could do much more to make it _worse._

“Incoming!”

A sharp whistle sounded nearby. Crowley curled himself into a ball as small as he possibly could in the foxhole where he was sheltered. Dirt rained down on him like it was trying to bury him alive. He hated this. He _hated this!_

“Captain!” Crowley jerked as someone grabbed his arm. It was only one of his soldiers. Williams Somebody. He couldn’t remember. Maybe-Williams shook his arm. “Captain Crowley, the Germans are advancing. What should we do?”

Crowley took a moment to thank Somebody for his dark glasses, because he was pretty sure that his eyes were blown wide in terror and that was not something he wanted to show to the men he was supposed to be leading. He gulped and looked over the rim of the foxhole. German tanks were barreling over the field towards them. There was no way his men could hold them back. Staying put would only leave him with dead soldiers. 

“Fall back!” he began shouting down the line. Soldiers were already leaving their foxholes to follow his orders.

“But sir!” Williams shouted, keeping a firm grip on Crowley’s arm. “We’re supposed to hold the line here!”

“I said fall back!” Crowley hissed. “We’ll join the others at the river. Unless,” he continued at Williams’ glare, “you’d rather stay here and get run over by a German tank.”

Crowley pulled free from Williams’ hand and followed his men’s retreat. A few feet from the foxhole he heard the sickening sound of a bullet meeting flesh and then a dull thud as something heavy hit the ground. He didn’t look back. It served the man right. He’d wanted to stay and die. He’d got his wish. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Late Spring**

**Eastern France**

Aziraphale chafed at the idea of being sent into battle again. He’d never thought it fair to have humans fight an immortal being. And besides, the whole ordeal was just so unbearably messy. So, sitting in the recruitment office for the British Army, Aziraphale had persuaded the young officer that he would be much better suited to a non-combatant position. Perhaps something on the medical side of things? Aziraphale felt confident that he could do some good there, at least. 

It had taken a minor miracle to convince those in command that an apparently middle-aged, overweight man would be of any use to the British Empire in this time of need, but soon enough Aziraphale found himself fast-tracked through a field medic’s training and on his way to France. His papers identified him as Sergeant A.Z. Fell, a position that would enable him to move almost freely along the British lines. He was, after all, on the search for the demon Crowley.

Aziraphale was still uncertain that Crowley was actually in France. Usually, as per the Arrangement, they informed each other of any plans to leave the country. Aziraphale was sure that Crowley would have at least written a note about any intentions of interfering in the humans’ new war. Yet when he had stopped by the demon’s flat, he’d found nothing but empty rooms. But that didn’t necessarily mean that Crowley was in France. 

The roar of the transport truck’s engine echoed along the French road towards Sedan. Aziraphale was jostled in the back, along with the other soldiers in his unit. He’d already endeared himself to them by giving away most of his food rations. As an angel, he didn’t actually need to eat, though he was rather fond of the habit. And, well, some of these boys were just so _skinny._

A bony elbow nudged him deliberately. He turned in his seat to look at a young face staring expectantly up at him. Private Alvin Hughes had been with him through his medical training. He was barely eighteen and so full of the belief that he was doing the right thing that Aziraphale had decided the moment they met that this boy would make it out of this war alive if it discorporated him. Even now, on their way to a front line, his face was full of the confidence of youth. 

Aziraphale smiled gently at him. “What is it, my dear?”

“The guys and me are taking bets on how long it’ll take us to send the jerries scurrying back where they came from. You want in, Az?” Hughes winked, using the nickname they had picked out for Aziraphale when he’d refused to tell them what the A.Z. in his name stood for. Alvin’s face was crinkled in a cheeky grin as he looked over at Aziraphale. He already knew that Aziraphale would not take the bait, but he wanted his input all the same. 

“No, thank you. Besides I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer that,” Aziraphale hedged. Because he was. Unfortunately. He’d been bored on the way across the Channel, and suddenly he was in possession of a number of files that only the British and German High Commands would have access to. The numbers had not favored Britain and her allies. It would take a miracle to keep the Germans from sweeping across the continent and wiping out their enemies entirely. Aziraphale didn’t know if he had that kind of power in him. 

“Neither are we,” Hughes shrugged. “It’s just a bit of fun.” He paused, eyeing Aziraphale shrewdly. “No bets, then. But surely you must have some idea?”

Aziraphale let the rumbling of the truck sway him back and forth as he thought of what to say. He looked at all of the faces surrounding him. Almost all of them believed in the superiority of the British Army. Not a one thought they wouldn’t succeed in their mission of stopping the German war machine from rolling over France. Aziraphale needed them to keep that hope, if only for himself. He smiled over at Hughes with as much confidence as he could muster. “Oh, we’ll all be home in a month or two, I shouldn’t wonder.” 

* * *

The light breeze off the river carried the scent of blood and death. Aziraphale shivered as he looked down the street to the inn where his unit was billeted. He needed to make an appearance. He didn’t need sleep but it unnerved the others when he didn’t at least pretend. He sighed and walked slowly away from the church turned field hospital. He was so very tired. 

This was harder than he had thought it would be. He hadn’t thought that having to stand by and do nothing as soldiers died could be worse than having to do the killing himself. He hadn’t been in such close proximity to individual humans in decades, and he was beginning to remember why he kept his distance. It hurt less. But this was what he had chosen. He’d wanted to _help._ But Gabriel’s restrictions on his miracles had rendered him almost useless. What was the point of making him join an army if he couldn’t use his powers for good?

The flickering light of a fire led Aziraphale to the others. He took a moment to watch the young men banter among themselves. With a small tug of a miracle, he pulled his knapsack from his room. He shouldered it and walked the rest of the distance to the fire. 

Aziraphale eased himself onto one of the camp chairs sitting around a small fire. Laughter filled his ears as he set his pack between his feet in front of him, pulling a pair of chocolate bars from within. He smiled to hear their laughter. He had spent the day carrying wounded and dying men from the front. It was good that these young men were able to find some respite from the fighting. He looked around at the team of medics that were now under his care and broke off a piece of chocolate, then passed the rest to Daniels on his left. 

“Where did you get this, Az?” Corporal Fellows asked as he stuffed nearly half the bar into his mouth.

“Really, my dear, save some for the rest of us,” Aziraphale scolded him. The others only laughed. Fellows waggled his eyebrows, drawing a chuckle from Aziraphale. “Brought it from home,” he lied easily. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. It had come from his bookshop. They didn’t need to know that he had just miracled into his knapsack.

He watched the chocolate being passed around the fire, noting the wan faces. Most had been here since the British Expeditionary Forces had been deployed last year. Aziraphale was one of four new recruits who had joined them here. He saw James and Rob laughing on the other side of the fire. Alvin was absent. 

‘Where’s Alvin?” Aziraphale asked of no one in particular.

“He said he was turning in,” Fellows answered. He leaned into Aziraphale to say quietly, “Between you and me, Az, I don’t think today was very nice to him, if you know what I mean.”

Aziraphale nodded gravely. “I dare say it wasn’t nice to any of us.”

After a few more minutes of talking around the fire, Aziraphale left to go find Alvin. Fellows had been right about their work today. It was the worst Aziraphale had witnessed since coming to France and had taken its toll on even Aziraphale’s ancient soul. And Alvin was so young and filled to the brim with life. Perhaps Aziraphale could give the young man a bit of the hope that he’d given the angel earlier. 

It was dark inside the room Aziraphale shared with the others in his unit. His bed was closest to the door, and easiest to leave from without disturbing the others. He carefully set his knapsack on his bed and looked over to where Alvin was curled on his own bed, facing a wall and feigning sleep. Aziraphale busied himself with stowing his pack and getting ready for bed. If the boy needed space, Aziraphale could give him that. 

“I didn’t think it’d be like this,” Alvin murmured, with his back still to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale stopped shuffling his things and sat on his bed in silence. He sighed at the boy’s back. “War is never pretty,” he said just as softly. “I always forget how bad it can be, though.”

The bed shifted and creaked as Alvin turned over to look at Aziraphale. His face was drawn and pale, eyes wide. “You’ve fought before, Az?”

Aziraphale nodded with a small sad smile. “More times than I care to think about.”

Alvin frowned and sat up. “But then why did you have to go through basic training with us?”

Aziraphale cursed his own stupidity. He’d forgotten who he was talking to. That was the problem with humans. One had to be careful not to let certain things slip, and here he’d gone and almost gotten himself into trouble. He couldn’t very well tell Alvin that he’d been in the very first war ever fought and had a hand in almost every war since unless he could convince Head Office he was needed elsewhere. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve never been a medic before, and it has been quite some time since I was last in the army.” 

Alvin seemed to accept his hasty answer and nodded thoughtfully, cracking the knuckles on his hand absentmindedly before he lay back down. Aziraphale let him think, reaching for a book. It was modern poetry that wasn’t really his style, but he had found it tossed onto his desk one day, and he began to read. The only sounds in the room were their quiet breathing and the steady turn of pages. 

“Why did you decide to join again, if you don’t like to think about it? Fighting, I mean?”

Aziraphale blinked up from his book. “Well,” he began slowly, picking his words and letting them settle in his mouth before he said them, “it felt like the right thing to do.” Alvin scoffed so Aziraphale continued more earnestly. “My dear, war is a terrible thing, yes. It’s one of the worst things humans have ever come up with, but sometimes there are things that are worth fighting for. And I thought that if there _had_ to be a war and I _had_ to be in it then I would much rather do something to help this time.”

Alvin had turned his head to stare at Aziraphale during his speech. He looked away, blinking, brow furrowed. Aziraphale sent out a silent wave of calm. Alvin took a deep breath. ”I suppose you’re right.” He turned back over onto his side. “Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, Alvin,” Aziraphale nodded with a quick gesture in Alvin’s direction. “Pleasant dreams.” He’d catch Hell from Gabriel for such a frivolous miracle, but as he’d told Alvin, some things were worth doing. 


	3. Chapter 3

**France, Central Front**

Crowley walked out of the command tent unnoticed. He’d grown tired of listening to lazy old men argue about useless military strategies. Nothing was going to stop Hitler’s army marching across Europe. General Lord Gort seemed to think that their best chance was to regroup to the north. General Billotte, however, wanted to push south to try to cut the Germans off from their supply line. Crowley knew neither plan would stand a chance, really. Not anymore.

Crowley’s head had started to pound after the “civilised” conversation had devolved into something less so. He’d left then. It’s not like he needed to hear what was said. It was all useless.

War had paid Crowley a visit soon after his company’s retreat back across the Meuse River, her flaming red hair standing out like a beacon on the grey battlefield. She’d bared her teeth at him in an imitation of a smile. 

“Fancy running into you here,” she’d drawled, drawing her hand down Crowley’s face. She eyed him up and down as she circled him. “Mmmm, I do love a man in uniform.” She smirked. “Or a demon.”

Crowley chuckled nervously to hide his discomfort. War was the last being to whom he wanted to show weakness. Even if her touch sent shivers down his spine. 

“What’s a demon like you doing in a place like this?”

“Oh, you know me,” Crowley winked. “I’m just doing what I’m told. Making trouble. I don't suppose I need to ask what you’re doing here?”

War laughed long and loud. “Come on, soldier,” she said, slipping a finger into his collar to pull him along behind her. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“Crowley,” he corrected. She laughed at him but still pulled him with her. A few catcalls and wolf whistles followed them out of the makeshift camp. Crowley grinned at his soldiers. Let them think he was off for some fun.

War led them away from the British encampment back towards the German lines. No one stopped them. War brought them to a jeep that belonged to General Billotte. She hopped into the driver’s seat and patted the spot beside her. Crowley climbed into the passenger’s seat more sedately. 

“Where are we going, then?” he asked her, relaxing back into his seat despite how fast and how recklessly she was driving. The jeep wheezed and whined as War forced it to cover more ground than should have been physically possible. In a few short minutes, they were no longer in Allied-occupied France, but in Germany. 

“You’re fighting for the wrong side, demon,” War giggled gleefully. Her hair flew behind her like a flaming halo. “I’m going to show you what a real army looks like. And if you’re as smart as they say you are, you’ll ditch your little islanders and join the winners.”

Crowley swallowed. He did not like the sound of that. Head Office had given him orders to see what kind of mischief he could add to the already growing tension in Europe. He’d been happy to do so. He _was_ a demon. But with War here, and so unnaturally delighted, Crowley was beginning to think he might be in a bit over his head. He liked Britain. He’d called it home for nearly a thousand years now. And Germany could stay well out of it, thanks. 

“So Germany will win this one, do you think?” he asked nonchalantly, grinning over at War. “They didn’t do so great in the last one, did they?”

War bared her teeth almost maniacally. “That was last time. This time your cute little Allied Forces don’t stand a snowball’s chance in--Well,” she laughed. “They’ve lost before they’ve even gotten started. The Third Reich is set to wipe out their enemies and sweep across Europe. It’ll be absolutely glorious.” 

“Yeah, glorious,” Crowley laughed nervously. He definitely didn’t like the sound of this. He was going to have to find a way out of it. He hadn’t wanted to be involved in another human war so soon, and it looked like this one was going to be so much worse than the last.

“You sound disappointed, demon,” War said, her voice like steel. She never took her eyes off the road before her, but Crowley felt himself pinned beneath her gaze all the same.

“Why would I be disappointed?” he asked feigning indignation. He had to make it look good or he might be leaving Europe sooner than he’d like by way of inconvenient, and most likely painful, discorporation.”The more people who die in war, the more souls Hell gets to collect.” He shrugged, looking away from War. “Win-win, if you ask me.”

“Excellent.” War smiled, stretching her red lips back from her teeth. She looked at him with fire in her eyes. “You’ll love this, demon.”

Crowley watched in mounting horror as War drove them down the entirety of the German lines, boasting proudly of the German War Machine. She had every right to be proud. The sheer number of German soldiers vastly outnumbered the British and French forces. And that didn’t even take into consideration all the tanks and artillery.

By the time War drove them back to Crowley’s camp, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. The dusky light painted his face red, helping to hide the white nausea he felt. His body felt strung out from holding himself together enough to convince War of his excitement for her newest endeavor. 

She pulled the jeep to a halt directly outside Crowley’s tent. She threw one last smile at him and reached up to run her hand down his face, cupping his jaw almost painfully. “I can count on you, demon, can’t I? To let me have my fun?”

Crowley resisted the urge to swallow and grinned uneasily. “Course you can. ‘M all for fun, me.” 

War grabbed his head in both her hands and pulled Crowley into a brutal kiss. Crowley yelped as she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and then licked her tongue into his open mouth. Crowley sat frozen, his hands held out from his body, not daring to push her away. He could barely think, his mind stuttering out in a blind panic. He felt more than heard a click of the jeep door opening behind him before a hand was pushing him forcefully back. He landed on his backside in the dirt with a painful grunt. War grinned down at him from the jeep, licking his blood from her lips. 

“Until next time, Crowley.”

He’d watched in a daze as she drove off. His batman found him still in a stupor an hour later. He’d had to pull Crowley to his feet and push him towards the command tent and the useless strategy meeting. 

Now Crowley stumbled over a crack in the road, nearly falling on his face. He caught himself before he could be embarrassed further. The story of his night with a pretty woman who had roughed him up something good was already making the rounds. He didn’t like that.

Finally spotting his destination, Crowley pushed all thoughts of war and War from his mind. He fell through the door of the small pub, and with a snap of his fingers all the patrons and the owner suddenly had somewhere else they needed to be--indefinitely. Once they were gone, Crowley poured himself across the bar, grabbed the first bottle of alcohol he could find and drank it down in one. Blindly he reached for another. He looked around him balefully. This pub didn’t look like it had nearly enough alcohol for what he needed. He shrugged and downed the second bottle. He’d just go to the next one when this one ran out. 

* * *

There had been a small niggling at the base of Aziraphale’s skull all day. It had the sharp, burning feel of a demonic miracle. A demon was nearby, and whoever it was had been almost constantly using their powers. Aziraphale itched to go find them, but the fighting had been fierce today. He and his unit had nearly been run ragged trying to help the wounded that never seemed to stop coming. He had tried to save as many as he could, but he was finding that even an angel could only do so much. 

He was tired. He could feel it weighing down his bones like treacle. Constant use of miracles, even small ones designed to go under Heaven’s radar, took its toll eventually. And that damned burn of demonic power had left him with a maddening headache. Aziraphale looked forward to the end of his shift, if only for the chance to find the demon and relieve himself of the headache. Hopefully, they would be amenable to talking because Aziraphale doubted he would have any energy to fight them. 

The fighting tapered off with the sun. Aziraphale, relieved of his duties at last, walked away from the field hospital and the tents full of wounded men. For the first time in years, he felt the need to sleep, but the headache he had been ignoring all day would be ignored no more. Aziraphale groned. He was going to have to do something about the demon before he could get any rest. 

He closed his eyes and focused on the pinging of occult energy. He reached within himself to gather his strength, and when he opened his eyes again, he was standing outside of a small bar in a village farther up the front. He blinked. 

Cautiously, Aziraphale crept closer to the door of the establishment. He’d hoped that being closer he would recognize the source of the demonic energy. Crowley he could handle, but if another demon was inside this building, he may be in for a fight. Not for the first time, he wished he still had his flaming sword. 

The door creaked open slowly. Aziraphale glanced around for any sign of life. The pub was deserted. He stepped lightly inside and frowned. The place was full to bursting with demonic energy which now had a very familiar twinge to it. 

“Crowley?” he called out.

The sound of empty glasses being flung about came from behind the bar, followed by a head of flaming red hair popping up to look at him. Crowley blinked his bare yellow eyes once, his face breaking out into a broad, sloppy grin. “Azzir--Azph--Angel! Your--you’re you!”

“Of course, I’m me!” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and walked around the bar. The floor was absolutely littered with empty bottles of every type of alcohol imaginable. He hummed, impressed that Crowley had been able to find a bottle of Irish whiskey in a small pub in the middle of France. “You know, dear boy, you could have at least _told_ me you were here.” Crowley had fallen back to the floor, still grinning happily up at the angel. “Now what is this all about?” 

“‘M gettn’ drunk, angel.” He waved his hands towards the rather alarming pile of empty bottles. “What’ssss it look like?”

Aziraphale pushed out a sharp breath. “I can see that. What I’d like to know is why?”

Crowley turned away and shrugged. Aziraphale took the opportunity to really take a look at Crowley. He was covered in grime, not all of it from the floor of the pub. He had on a British uniform, which surprised Aziraphale. He’d assumed he’d have been with the Germans, but quickly reminded himself that Crowley was still mad at Germany for the last war, promising not to step foot in the country for at least a century. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d say Crowley looked almost…lost. 

Aziraphale settled himself on the floor next to Crowley. He found an unopened bottle of scotch. Not his usual go-to, but it would have to do. He fished around for two clean glasses and poured a measure into both. “I thought you’d sworn off wars for a century.”

Crowley snorted in disgust. “Head Office jusst told me to make sssome trouble. Which is stupid. Humans don’t need me to make trouble. They’ve got War.”

“Well, of course, war is trouble, my dear, but--”

“Not war, angel,” Crowley said suddenly serious. “War.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, finally hearing the capital letter. He rather felt like getting drunk himself, now. “She’s here, then?” he asked lightly. “Already?”

Crowley nodded glumly. “Ssshe told me all about it. It’sss not good, angel.”

“No, I rather think it’s not.” Aziraphale took a distracted sip of scotch. “I’ve read some rather alarming reports, but,” he turned to Crowley, “you said she told you all about it. Is it true, then? Is Hitler really sending such a large army just to take over France?”

“Not ssending.” Crowley hiccuped. “Already here.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yep.”

Quiet settled over them like a blanket. Crowley moved so that he was leaning against the angel with his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale knew that he should push him away. Crowley was a demon, after all, and he was an angel. They were hereditary enemies. But he kept Crowley close. His head was a grounding weight on his shoulder that Aziraphale needed. War didn’t always get involved in human skirmishes, but when she did things tended to get very nasty, very fast. She took human ingenuity and turned it to warfare. And humans had never disappointed her bloodlust. 

“She kissed me, you know.”

Aziraphale jerked slightly at Crowley’s admission. “Who?”

“War. There was blood.” Crowley grimaced, pointing to his mouth as if to show him the scar. “Didn’t like it.”

“How very unpleasant,” Aziraphale shuddered. He’d not had very much contact with War over the centuries, but he’d at least been spared her advances. Others had not been so lucky, from what he’d heard. He didn’t know why he was different but he was glad of it. “Why, though?”

Crowley turned his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder and mumbled something unintelligible. 

“What was that, my dear?”

Crowley’s sigh blew across Aziraphale’s neck. “She wanted me to be a good demon, you know? Let her have fun.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath at the misery pouring off the demon. He’d known Crowley long enough to know that this was not what he would consider fun. He was a demon, he never contested that, but Crowley’s form of mischief leaned more towards small annoyances than anything like this. Never like this, no matter the memos he sent back to Head Office. 

“What if we did something? Something to help?”

Crowley’s face folded into an exaggerated frown. “Like what?”

“I’m not sure, but something. We could come up with a plan to somehow help the Allied Forces. Give them time to think of a way to end the war.”

“Like what?” he repeated slowly, lifting his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know, Crowley, but we can’t just stand around and do nothing!” 

“Really? Not like you haven’t done it before,” Crowley muttered meanly. 

Aziraphale felt a sharp pain in his chest. He held his breath as his face crumpled and tried to will his eyes dry. Failing that, he stood and walked to the far end of the bar and examined the nearly empty shelves on the back wall. He blinked. He hated it. He hated it, but Crowley was right. He’d been standing by for most of human history. He’d been doing what he was told. He couldn’t go against the Almighty’s plans. He was an angel. Angels were meant to protect the Great Plan, according to Gabriel. Even when that meant watching human suffering. 

Crowley heaved a great sigh. “I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean it.”

Aziraphale shook his head, waving away his apology. His throat clicked as he swallowed. “Gabirel told me I wasn’t allowed to interfere in this war,” he said, turning his head just enough to be able to see Crowley out of the corner of his eye. Crowley was staring at him. Without his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, his gaze was nearly unnerving. Aziraphale chuckled humorlessly. “No frivolous miracles. You know how he is. He’s keeping tabs on everything I do while I’m here.” 

Crowley nodded in sympathy. This was a conversation they’d had numerous times over the past three hundred years or so. He frowned suddenly. “Why are you here, then?”

“Looking for you,” Aziraphale huffed. He spun on Crowley heatedly. “Apparently I’d lost track of the one demon that’s supposed to be my responsibility. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving England?”

For the first time, Crowley looked ashamed. He ducked his head and muttered, “Didn’t think I’d be gone long.”

“What? You thought you’d just pop over for a war and leave before I’d noticed?”

“I mean, yeah,” he shrugged. He swirled the liquid in his glass and mumbled something indistinguishable into it.

“What was that, my dear?”

“I said,” Crowley said slowly and carefully, “that I didn’t want you to worry. I thought that maybe I’d cause a little mischief to annoy some top brass, the war would sputter out, and I’d be back in London in time for lunch at the Ritz.”

Aziraphale stared at him blankly. “Why did you think I would worry? Why would an angel worry about a demon?”

Crowley scowled and staggered to his feet. He pointed his finger squarely at Aziraphale’s chest. “No. No, you don’t get to act all hurt and then turn around and say that.” He spun on his heel, catching himself on the bar when he turned too far. “I’m leaving, angel. I don’t have to listen to this.”

“Crowley, wait,” Aziraphale called after him. “Please.”

Crowley stopped but kept his back to the angel. Aziraphale slowly walked back around the bar to stand a few feet from his tense back. Aziraphale sighed. He’d known as soon as he said the words that he wanted to take them back. They were friends. Aziraphale could admit that to himself, at least. 

“What would you have me do, Crowley?” he asked softly. “You know I can’t interfere with the Great Plan.”

“How do you know it’s the Great Plan?” Crowley hissed, turning on Aziraphale. “How do you know any of this is part of the Great Bloody Plan?”

“Gabriel said--”

“Who gives a toss about that git!” Crowley shouted, throwing his hands in the air. Aziraphale flinched. “Who says he knows more about the Almighty’s plans than you do?”

Aziraphale huffed. “It’s not that simple, Crowley, and you know it!”

“Fine. Whatever.” Crowley shrugged. He turned back to the door. 

“What if we did something together? Like the Arrangement?” Aziraphale tried again. He couldn’t let Crowley leave. Not when they’d just found each other. 

“Angel, I don’t know what you want me to say. You just said that you couldn’t do anything against the Great Plan.” Crowley pulled a pair of sunglasses from his front pocket and placed them on his nose. “My unit’s being sent east, to try to stop the German panzers from cutting us off from the rest of France. That’s what I’m doing.”

“An infantry unit against tanks?!” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, you’ll all be slaughtered!”

Crowley whirled around and snarled, “What does an angel care about a demon?”

Aziraphale flinched, face pale. He closed the gap between them until they were feet apart. “I’m coming with you, then. We can think of a plan on the way.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and walked out of the bar without a word. 


	4. Chapter 4

**France, Central Front**

After some last-minute paperwork, and a small miracle, Aziraphale was finally on his way to rendezvous with Crowley’s unit. He’d managed to find a lonely jeep to make the trip up the front line faster. He bumped along in the passenger seat as Private Hughes sped them along the road. 

Aziraphale had debated whether to bring Alvin along. The boy was already traumatized by the small skirmishes in the Ardennes, and where they were headed now would be harder and messier. But Aziraphale couldn’t keep an eye on the boy if he was a hundred miles away. Even if bringing him along would put him in greater danger, it was the best Aziraphale could do short of sending him home, and he didn’t think Alvin would thank him for that. 

They pulled into the makeshift camp near the Meuse River. Aziraphale pulled his rucksack onto his back and led Alvin into the camp. A corporal bounded up to them. 

“You must be Sergeant Fell,” the corporal said, gesturing that they should follow him. “Captain Crowley sent me to fetch you. I’m Corporal Mason.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled shaking the corporal’s hand. He pointed to Alvin. “This is Private Hughes.” 

Corporal Mason nodded. “We’re just outside the camp. The Captain wants us mobile as soon as we get back. I hope you’re ready for a trek. We’ve got to meet the Germans at Saint-Quentin.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Corporal Mason led them at a clip through the camp. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally to make sure they were following but otherwise said nothing. It didn’t bother Aziraphale, but the corporal’s anxiety was making Alvin jumpy. He kept glancing over at Aziraphale nervously. Aziraphale sent a wave of calm his way. 

“Never been to Saint-Quentin,” Alvin said quietly to Aziraphale. “Is it nice this time of year, do you think, Az?”

Aziraphale smiled. “It’s lovely. There’s a nice little bakery near there that serves a delightful brioche, if I recall correctly.”

Alvin grinned. “Think we’ll get any brioche, then?”

“Doubt it,” Mason grumbled. “We’re here.” A group of soldiers stood waiting along the side of the road leading south. Mason pointed into the crowd of uniforms. “That’s Captain Crowley.”

Crowley stood slightly apart from his men. He looked better than the last time Aziraphale had seen him. He was no longer drunk. His uniform was neatly pressed and cleaned, and his sunglasses were perched neatly on his nose. Even slouched as he was, he commanded respect. He turned his dark gaze toward the newcomers. Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes through the dark glass, but he could feel them boring into his own. 

“Right,” Captain Crowley clipped with a sneer. “Now that the stragglers have decided to join us, let’s move out.” 

* * *

**France, on the road to Saint-Quentin**

Crowley hadn’t said a word to Aziraphale in days, his orders given out by Corporal Mason. Aziraphale let him have his space. There was no use pushing the demon to talk, Aziraphale had learned. Crowley would come to him in his own time. Aziraphale could wait. 

The road east was long and hard without the easy banter Aziraphale had come to expect from Crowley’s company. He settled for learning about his new unit. Crowley’s soldiers were remarkably well protected. Aziraphale could see the demonic curses keeping them from harm.

They were all of them fiercely loyal to Captain Crowley. Aziraphale had learned that his first day when he had jokingly mentioned Crowley’s austere behavior. He’d been given the cold shoulder by everyone but Alvin. It had taken two days worth of shared meals for Crowley’s men to thaw to Aziraphale. That, and a few minor miracles to ease the ache of sore feet. 

They’d been traveling at a grueling pace behind the French lines, skirting the fighting in favor of speed. It had suited Aziraphale just fine. The less fighting he had to stomach, the better. But War would only be ignored for so long. On the third day, they stumbled headfirst into her arms.

Aziraphale pulled Alvin down beside him at the first sound of gunfire. He saw the rest of their unit duck for cover. He frantically searched for injuries. A young man cried out.

“Come along, my dear,” Aziraphale said, pulling a shaken Alvin into a crouch. He pulled him along beside him, careful to keep himself between Alvin and the origin of the gunfire. They were the largest target now, but they were moving fast and Aziraphale refused to believe that the enemy had any sense of aim. 

Aziraphale fell to his knees above a scared and bleeding young man. He laid a hand on the young man’s head while Alvin pulled out an aid kit. “It’ll be all right, my dear,” Aziraphale said, sending a wave of pain relief through the young man’s body. Alvin cut through the young man’s trousers to get to the bleeding. Aziraphale sighed in relief. It was just a flesh wound, painful but ultimately not life-threatening. He looked out over the rest of the blooming battlefield. “Can you handle things from here, Alvin?”

Aziraphale was up and moving before Alvin had the chance to answer. His head was filled with desperate prayers for help from both sides. He’d been able to tune them out before when he was farther back from the immediate fighting. Here though, in the midst of hailing bullets and falling mortars, he was almost deafened by desperate pleas for salvation. He took a moment to try to clear his mind until he realized the loud, terrified screaming wasn’t just in his head. 

One of Crowley’s soldiers was lying in the path of a German panzer. The tank rolled steadily towards him, savoring the kill. Aziraphale watched in horror as the soldier tried to scramble away from its path to no avail. He was going to be crushed. Aziraphale blinked. 

Suddenly he was sprinting across the field, heedless of the gunfire aimed at him. He was focused only on the soldier held fast in Death’s grip. Aziraphale summoned his heavenly strength and barrelled into the side of the tank with his shoulder. He heard the shouts of the men inside as the tank was shoved onto its side. Immediate threat gone, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s soldier, hefted him over his shoulder, and ran back to cover. 

“Are you mad?!” a voice hissed in Aziraphale’s ear. He had been pulled down to safety by a clawed hand. Crowley’s eyes were blown wide behind his askew sunglasses. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Aziraphale took a moment to look back over the past few minutes. He could have been discorporated, yes, but he’d known instinctively that that wouldn’t be the case. He hadn’t had to think about averting enemy gunfire, because Crowley was with him. “No, you wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“Angel!” Crowley growled, rolling his eyes Heavenward. He took a deliberate breath and then changed tack. “What happened to no frivolous miracles, hmm?”

“I didn’t use any miracles.”

Crowley’s eyes bulged comically out of his face. “Aziraphale! You knocked over a bloody tank like it was made out of cardboard!”

“That wasn’t a miracle,” Aziraphale snapped. Crowley scoffed. Aziraphale jabbed a hard finger into the demon’s chest, asking, “Why do you think I was appointed Guardian of the Eastern Gate? It wasn’t just for my cherubic looks, I can tell you!”

A groan from their feet drew their attention. The soldier Aziraphale had pulled from the jaws of Death was still bleeding profusely. His left leg was gone below the knee and his face was a sickly shade of white. Aziraphale knelt to try to staunch the blood pouring from the severed artery. 

**SAVE YOUR MIRACLES, PRINCIPALITY. THIS ONE IS MINE.**

Aziraphale and Crowley flinched at the voice that was both everywhere and nowhere. A great, dark hooded figure stood a few meters away. Death’s face, covered by his black cloak, was turned unnervingly towards the angel and demon. Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his own face. “Oh, dear…”

Death tilted his head to the side. **AN ANGEL AND A DEMON WORKING TOGETHER. INTERESTING. BUT NOT UNHEARD OF.**

Crowley shot Aziraphale a wild look. “What?” he mouthed. Aziraphale shook his head, bewildered. 

**I’LL TAKE THE HUMAN NOW.**

“No!” Aziraphale cried stepping between Death and the wounded soldier before he could think of why this was a terribly bad idea. He ignored Crowley’s worried tug on his sleeve. “I saved him! I won’t let you take him!”

Death looked bored. **YOU SAVED HIM FROM THE TANK. NOT FROM ME.**

“Now, see here!” Aziraphale began, drawing himself up to his full height. He had gone through too much to let Death take this young man, and he was going to tell Death exactly that. 

“Take him,” Crowley said, finally successfully pulling Aziraphale to the side and giving Death a clear path to the wounded soldier. “We’d never want to interfere in your affairs.”

**THANK YOU.** Death’s sarcasm was as cutting as a knife. He made a complicated motion with his boney hand, and the young man stopped breathing. Death studied Crowley and Aziraphale a moment longer. **IT WON’T WORK, YOU KNOW.**

“What won’t work?” Crowley asked, keeping a steadying hand on Aziraphale.

Death shrugged. **I WOULDN’T STAY HERE MUCH LONGER, EITHER.**

Death disappeared and the roar of battle crashed over them again. Aziraphale felt the mortar flying towards them and hurled Crowley out of its path before jumping after him. 

“Shit,” Crowley mumbled from beneath the falling earth and angel. “That was close.”

Aziraphale looked down at him, blinking rapidly. “Yes, it was, rather.” He looked up at the surrounding chaos. The Germans had advanced much farther during their chat with Death. “We might want to think about relocating, my dear.”

“Right.” Crowley sprang to his feet and pulled Aziraphale up with him. He looked around for any sign of British soldiers and then pulled Aziraphale into a run towards them. When they reached where most of their unit had taken shelter, Crowley called out, “Fall back, lads! To the trees!”

Aziraphale looked back to where Death had stood one last time. Had he really thought he could cheat death without using miracles? He grit his teeth and then searched the remaining soldiers for his young medic. Alvin was helping carry a wounded soldier farther into the shelter of the trees. Aziraphale sent a blessing washing over Alvin like a raging river. To Hell with Heaven. He’d use as many frivolous miracles as he wanted. 

* * *

“Hey, angel.”

Crowley approached Aziraphale like one would a frightened animal. The angel had been uncharacteristically quiet since their encounter with Death, keeping to himself so much that the humans were beginning to talk about it. The normally genial angel had become an icy breeze they’d rather avoid. Crowley didn’t like it.

“I come bearing gifts.” Crowley grinned, holding up a pilfered bottle of wine as an offering. It wasn’t a great vintage, not even a good one, but it was the best he could do on short notice. 

Aziraphale had sequestered himself off from their makeshift camp beneath a large oak tree. A single branch miraculously hung just above his head to hold a lamp that he was using to read. Aziraphale only grunted, his eyes never leaving the page. Crowley watched as he turned a page to continue reading. 

“Come on, Az,” Crowley said, flopping down beside Aziraphale, using the nickname the others had given the angel. 

“Don't call me that!” Aziraphale snapped.

“Come on, Az,” Crowley continued despite the glare, “it’s just what the lads call you.”

“You are _not_ one of the lads,” Aziraphale scoffed, finally looking up from his book.

“Well, I should hope not.” Crowley wheedled the cork from the bottle before offering it to Aziraphale. “Means I’d have to stay here until the end of this bloody war instead of buggering off whenever I feel like it.”

Aziraphale grimaced at the taste of the wine and set his book aside to properly scowl at the label. “Crowley, this is awful. Are you trying to poison me as well as irritate?”

“Come on, angel. It’s not that bad.” Crowley grabbed the bottle from the angel’s hands and drank from the bottle himself. He nearly gagged. “Okay, maybe it is.” He grinned sheepishly.

“I’d forgotten,” Aziraphale sighed, reaching again for the wine despite his earlier protest. “I’d forgotten why I like to keep to my bookshop.”

Crowley watched him silently, knowing the angel would continue his thought if given enough time. The silence stretched out around them in the darkened trees. It was a balm from the noise of war despite the low murmur of mourning coming from Aziraphale. Crowley let the peace wash over them like a warm breeze. He always felt more at ease when Aziraphale was near, even if the world was falling to pieces around them. He could count on Aziraphale to be steady, an unchanging rock of goodness in a sea of chaos. 

“As an angel,” Aziraphale began, haltingly, quietly, as if to keep his words safe in the shelter of the woods, “I love all of God’s creations. I do,” he asserted to Crowley’s sardonic grin. “But I must admit I’d rather love them from a distance. I know these men, now, Crowley. I _know_ them. And I can’t--” His eyes locked onto Crowley helplessly. “They’re so fragile, humans. Finite.” His face hardened. “I never wanted to be a soldier.”

Crowley sat very still. He’d very rarely seen Aziraphale in a mood like this. Not since the Black Death had ravaged its way across Europe however many centuries ago. He’d never really known what to do or say, and even now, after they had sealed the Arrangement and had been spending more time together, Crowley was at a loss. But Aziraphale needed him, and Crowley would bumble his way through Heaven if he had to. Crowley prayed to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t make things worse. 

“Angel, humans aren’t fragile,” he began slowly, words tumbling faster from his mouth as he went. “They’re stronger than anyone in Heaven or Hell gives them credit for. They’re like… They’re like stars, angel. They don’t live forever and they burn out eventually, but while they’re here they are so bright and clever and absolutely brilliant.” He faltered. Aziraphale was looking at him with such a small, soft smile that he felt his heart stutter in his chest. Crowley cleared his throat, finishing lamely, “Humans aren’t fragile, or whatever.” 

Crowley looked resolutely down at his hands in his lap, feeling the burn of Aziraphale’s gentle gaze. A soft hand covered his own. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“Whatever,” Crowley mumbled, still not looking up at the angel. 

Aziraphale pulled on Crowley’s hands until his head was lying on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley linked their fingers together while Aziraphale reached for his book. Crowley closed his eyes as the angel began to read aloud. Maybe he’d finally found the words to soothe the angel’s ache. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and let the angel read to him until dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

“Crowley, look!”

Aziraphale practically bounded across the road to him, waving a piece of paper over his head. The angel was overjoyed, his smile blinding in its intensity. Crowley hadn’t seen him this happy since before they’d both gone to war. 

“They’ve done it, Crowley,” he said. “They’ve come up with a plan that might actually work.”

“What are you on about?” Crowley asked and snatched the paper from the angel’s hands.

“They’ve finally decided to hit the Germans where it hurts,” Aziraphale said excitedly. “We’re to fight south while the French 3rd fights north and breaks the supply line for those dreadful tanks.”

Crowley read over the missive. He was impressed. This could work. He frowned. “Where did you get this? I didn’t get anything like this and I’m the captain.”

Aziraphale shifted uneasily, but his smile never waned. “Well, I found it, really.”

Crowley smirked. “You…found it?”

“Yes, I found it. Look,” Aziraphale huffed. “We could hold the Germans back with this plan. Or stop them altogether!” He giggled. 

Crowley furrowed his brow thinking. Aziraphale was right. This new plan could work. The Allies had finally found their backbone and were going to take the fight to the Germans. He laughed.

“Angel, this is brilliant!” He grabbed Aziraphale by the waist and swung him around in a circle. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shrieked. “Put me down, you idiot!”

Crowley let go of the angel but kept up his twirl around him. This was the best news he had had since this stupid war began. The end was now in sight. He wouldn’t have to stay here much longer. He could go home and sleep in a real bed in his own flat and not have to worry about discorporation by some unaware human. And Aziraphale could go back to his books, safely in his shop. 

Aziraphale was still studying the plans with a frown. “You do think they’ll be able to pull this off, don’t you? It will work?”

“Of course, it will, angel.” Aziraphale favored him with another smile, and Crowley felt like he could burst. He grinned so hard his face hurt. “You’ll be back in your bookshop in no time.”

“I do hope you’re right, my dear.”

* * *

**France, road North to Calais**

Crowley was very nearly happy. He was still caught in the middle of a human war, but every day took him farther and farther from the fighting. He and Aziraphale were back on friendly terms, sneaking off every night to share a bottle of whatever alcohol they could find in the nearby villages. Tonight Aziraphale had snagged a very nice Merlot, and Crowley was looking forward to a pleasant evening in his angel’s company. 

Their unit was on its way north. After Aziraphale had shown him the plans he’d “found” for cutting off the German advance, Crowley had managed to get orders sending them away from the fighting. His plan was to get as far from the guns and bullets and bombs as he could before making his way back home to England to wait out the rest of the war in peace. He’d have left instantly if Aziraphale hadn’t vetoed that plan. The angel didn’t want to leave his little medic to fend for himself. Which had led to their good-natured bickering now.

“I can’t believe you adopted a human in the middle of a war, angel,” Crowley whined, flailing his hands about. “It’s a war. It won’t end well.”

“You’re one to talk,” huffed Aziraphale, raising the bottle to his lips. He pointed unsteadily at Crowley. “I can see the demonic protections covering your men as plain as, as-- whatever is plain!” he finished lamely.

“Pffft! That’s just so I don’t get left out here in the middle of nowhere by myself.”

Aziraphale leveled him with a knowing grin. “Right. Of course.”

“It is!”

“I’ve already agreed with you, my dear,” Aziraphale soothed, gently patting Crowley’s arm. “They are in good hands.”

Crowley groaned. He wasn’t quite drunk enough to handle Aziraphale calling him nice in not so many words. “Look, all I’m saying is that you,” he poked Aziraphale in the chest to make his point, “shouldn’t have adopted a human during a war. It’s bad business.”

Aziraphale laughed mechanically. “I’m aware, but the point of adopting him was to make sure it wouldn’t be a bad business. At least not for Alvin.“

Crowley could see he was going to get nowhere with this line of inquiry. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get back, then?”

“Oho!” Aziraphale brightened. “I’d not thought of that, but I imagine I’d go back to my bookshop. I do hope everything is alright there. I had to leave it empty.” He fretted with the buttons on his uniform. “Gabriel didn’t quite understand that I would need someone to look after any ‘material objects’ I might have acquired.”

“Gabriel,” Crowley declared, “is a wanker.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Stop it! That’s my boss!”

“Doesn’t exempt him from being a wanker,” grinned Crowley.

“No, I can’t be thinking such things. I’m an angel.”

Crowley guffawed. “Are you telling me that no angel ever has looked at Gabriel and thought, ‘That, lads, is a wanker?’” 

“Of course not!” Aziraphale looked almost offended. Then he grinned secretively, leaning into Crowley. “At least none that would ever admit it.”

“I knew it!” Crowley howled, slapping his knee and swiping the bottle for himself. He loved it when Aziraphale was a bastard. It suited him. 

Aziraphale froze beside him and Crowley realized with a pang that he’d said that out loud. He looked down at the Merlot. What was in this stuff? It usually took a great deal more alcohol before his tongue ran away from him, but he was good at keeping it in check. He hadn’t been expecting it to get a mind of its own after sharing just one bottle of wine with Aziraphale. He had to backtrack.

“Angel, I’m drunk,” he began quickly. “I didn’t mean that. You know me.”

Aziraphale studied his wringing hands in his lap. He’d shifted slightly away from Crowley so that their shoulders were no longer touching. His voice was quiet and slow. “Crowely, you really can’t be saying things like that. Not even drunk.” He glanced upward. “You never know who might be listening.”

“Look, just forget I even said anything, angel.” Crowley tried to get back to their easy banter from before, but he feared he’d gone and messed it up. “Besides, it’s not like it means anything.”

Aziraphale glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He drew in a few deep breaths. “Yes, alright.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a book. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm on the cover. “I think I’ve had enough to drink. Do you mind if I read?”

Crowley cursed himself and his unruly mouth that never knew when to shut it. Aziraphale was looking at him wide eyed and pleading. Waiting for him to give the angel an out from their conversation. Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure. Do what you want. I think I’ll get some sleep in, before tomorrow.”

Crowley knew he should probably go back to their little camp and sleep there, but he didn’t want to just leave Aziraphale out here by himself. So he wiggled himself to a lying position beside Aziraphale with his back to the angel. A blanket covered him with a snap of fingers, and he curled into himself to sleep. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Aziraphale turning pages as he read. The angel’s rhythmic breathing lulled him into a sleepy half doze he inhabited for the rest of the night. 

* * *

**Ypres, Belgium**

**23 May 1940**

General Billotte, commander of the Allied First Army Group, sighed as he left the meeting with his new Commander-in-Chief. Weygand had presented a plan to break the German corridor through the Somme. Billotte didn’t have much hope in a French victory, but this plan was as good as any. Now he just needed to get the plans out to his commanders and start the fight south to cut off the German supply line to their forces in the east. 

The night was clear in Ypres. It would be a good night for a drive, Billotte thought. He marched to his waiting jeep, the Weygand Plans tucked safely into his briefcase. 

“Ah, are you ready for a long drive, Sergeant?” Billotte asked of his driver as he climbed into the back of the jeep. He squinted in the dark at the sergeant's back. He seemed much shorter than Billotte remembered. Much more slender. He felt an ice-cold chill travel down his back. Something was terribly wrong. 

A woman turned around in the driver’s seat to smile at him in a baring of too-white teeth. Her flaming red hair framed her face in a halo of fire and chaos. “Sorry, General,” she simpered, “I’m afraid Sergeant Corbin is indisposed. It’s all right if I drive you though, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Billotte answered automatically, and it was all right. This lovely young woman could drive him anywhere. In fact, now that he thought about it, she had been driving him around since the beginning. Hadn’t she? Of course, she had. Everything was just as it should be. 

The woman smiled at him, delighted, and turned back to the road. She put the jeep into gear and recklessly peeled out onto the road. General Billotte smiled serenely in the backseat. At the rate they were traveling they would make Arras well before daybreak.

The woman laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that, General. In fact, I doubt we’ll make it to Arras at all.”

Billotte frowned. That was not the plan. He knew this. But he felt so calm and sure that this woman was someone he could trust. Why wasn’t she taking him to Arras? He had to go to Arras. He was sure of that. The Allied victory was depending on it. 

“None of that, now,” she commanded, and Billotte felt his mind go wonderfully fuzzy, drowning out his doubts. 

A few miles outside of Ypres, they pulled over to the side of the deserted road. The woman got out of the driver’s seat. “This is where I leave you, General.”

Billotte looked around him in confusion. “We haven’t even left Belgium? Get back in the jeep and drive.”

The woman giggled. “I don’t think I will. But don’t worry. You won’t miss me for long.”

Before Billotte could question her cryptic words, the jeep began moving along the road without a driver. He yelped in fear. He turned to see the woman laughing hysterically as the vehicle sped away down the road. Billotte jumped over the back of the seat to get to the steering wheel. Without a driver, the car was veering dangerously close to the ditch. He landed hard in the driver’s seat, hands closing desperately over the steering wheel. The jeep continued on its careening course despite his efforts to set it to rights. Billotte slammed his foot on the brakes to no avail. He had the time to realize he was going to die and it had something to do with the red woman, and then the jeep slammed front first into the ditch. The impact sent it cartwheeling over and over. Billotte held on as long as he could before he was thrown from the vehicle like a puppet cut loose from its strings.

The night sky above Billotte was beautiful, he thought. He couldn’t feel his body, but his breath was getting harder and harder to catch. A dark shadow fell over him. 

The red woman was kneeling over him. She had his briefcase in her hands. “It’s been a pleasure, General Gaston Billotte. Thanks for the secret plans.” 

Her blood-red smile was the last thing his eyes saw. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Billotte did die in a car crash before delivering the Weygand Plan to the rest of the Allied Forces in Northern France, a major blow to the war effort.


	6. Chapter 6

**Calais, France**

**24 May 1940**

The whole city of Calais was on edge. Crowley could feel the unease in the air as soon as they got within sight of the city. British and French soldiers were running around preparing for what looked like a siege. Crowley didn’t understand it. Calais was far enough north to escape the fighting. Especially now that the 10th Panzer Division was finally cut off from the main part of the German army. There was no danger here. 

“What do you think all this is about?”

Aziraphale must have felt the tension, too. His eyes darted along the edges of the street as he wrung his hands. Crowley caught a glimpse of his worried gaze. “I’m not sure.”

“I thought they’d be happier here, you know?” Crowley tried to laugh but it fell flat. “The war’s almost over.” He looked hopefully to the angel. “Right?”

Aziraphale held his worried gaze with his own. “We should find someone in charge and see what’s happening.”

Crowley nodded shakily and flagged down a passing soldier who told them where to find the command center. They made their way through the thronging mass of people moving hurriedly through the city. Anxiety built a home in Crowley’s chest as they walked. He could taste the fear heavy on his tongue. 

Two soldiers stood outside the door to the building that had been commandeered for the officers. Crowley sauntered up to them with a grin. “Hi guys. Captain Crowley and Sergeant Fell, here as ordered.”

The more severe looking of the two soldiers checked a clipboard. “You’re not on the list.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Sorry, sir, you’re not on the list,” Hardass repeated slowly. His friend reached for his gun. Crowley braced himself for a fight. They needed to get into this building no matter what some stupid list said. 

“Actually,” Aziraphale stepped in, his voice a soothing balm, “if you’d just care to check again, you’ll find us near the end. We’ve just received our orders.”

The soldier glared at Aziraphale’s smiling face a moment longer before he looked at the clipboard again. “Captain A.J. Crowley and Sergeant A. Z. Fell?” he sneered.

“Yes, that’s us!” Aziraphale beamed and then led Crowley through the door. He patted the soldier on the arm. “Thank you, dear boy.”

“Oh, very nice, angel,” Crowley snorted once they were out of earshot. “What happened to no miracles, then?”

“Oh, it was barely a miracle,” the angel demurred. “I had to do more than put my name on a list to even get a commission in the army. Do you know what kind of restrictions they put on soldiers now?”

“You mean they didn’t want a 5,000 year-old angel in their army? I’m shocked!”

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes. He stopped outside of a room with people bustling around a large table covered in papers. Couriers scurried in and out carrying memos and orders. Aziraphale watched them for a moment and then snapped his fingers. A large folder appeared in his hands. Crowley leaned against one wall as the angel read. 

“No… No, this can’t be right.”

Crowley perked up at the dismay in the angel’s voice. “What is it?”

Aziraphale ignored him and marched into the room, eyes focused on the table and the mass of maps and papers floating around. He flipped through papers faster than any human would have been able to, his expression devolving more and more into a frown. Crowley tried to look over his shoulder to see what he was reading, but he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. He jumped back as Aziraphale spun around to level a steely stare at an unfortunate human. Crowley had only seen the angel use that look a handful of times. It was full of angelic persuasion and usually left any humans in its way wishing they’d been told to “be not afraid.” 

“You,” Aziraphale commanded. The human, a major by the looks of his uniform, stopped in his tracks and stared fearfully at Aziraphale. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked holding up a packet of paper. The major blinked. “Why have we abandoned the Weygand Plan? Who called in the retreat?”

“General Lord Gort ordered the retreat,” Major Unfortunate managed to stutter out. “He’s now in charge of the 1st.”

“Yes, but why?” Aziraphale questioned urgently. “We were set to stop the German panzers. And now they have a straight shot north! What happened to General Billotte?”

“General Billotte is dead, sir. Car accident, I think.”

Aziraphale gasped and turned back to the table to dig through more of the papers. He let out a cry of dismay as he found what he was looking for. He grabbed a few more papers and Crowley’s arm and hurried out of the room. 

“Angel, wait!” Aziraphale pulled Crowley forcefully behind him despite the demon’s protests. Crowley finally got his feet underneath him enough to pull Azirapahle to a stop outside of the command building. “Aziraphale, what is going on?”

“We can’t leave, Crowley,” he said gravely. 

Crowley gawped at him. “Yes, we can. That’s the only reason we came here, remember? To get a boat home?”

“Crowley, we can’t leave,” Aziraphale repeated. “General Billotte was last seen with a red-haired woman. A red-haired woman who was his driver after his normal one mysteriously disappeared.”

All the blood drained from Crowley’s face as an icy chill ran down his spine. A red-haired woman. Oh, Satan. “We forgot about War,” he breathed. 

Aziraphale nodded. He let out a frustrated growl and paced away from Crowley in agitation. “We should have known it wouldn’t work! We _knew_ she wanted a massacre! And no clever plan was ever going to stop her. We should have known!”

Crowley couldn’t help but agree. War had come to him and told him her plans. And he’d just assumed that she would stay out of things? He was such an idiot! 

“We can’t leave, Crowley,” Aziraphale said again, angrily. He was still pacing the street, heedless of anyone walking in his way and pushing them over if they got too close. He came to a stop in front of Crowley. “We have to stay and help. We have to try to stop War from causing any more damage.”

Crowley blinked. Stop War? Had the angel finally lost what little brain power he had? “And how exactly do you propose we do that? How d’you think we’re gonna stop War, angel? We don’t have the powers for that!”

Aziraphale got a manic look in his eye. “There’s another plan. One no one else is supposed to know about. It won’t stop the war but it will save thousands of soldiers.”

“Ok. So what’s the grand plan?”

“Here, see?” Aziraphale shoved a wrinkled piece of paper under Crowley’s nose. His eyes went cross-eyed from looking at it. “There’s an evacuation plan set in motion: Operation Dynamo. All we have to do is get there.”

Crowley snatched the paper from Aziraphale’s hand to read it properly without it waving frantically in front of his face. If this was right, they needed to leave Calais as soon as possible and get to a port city called Dunkirk. British personnel had already begun setting up an evacuation route back across the Channel. 

“Ok, so we leave for Dunkirk.”

“We can’t leave for Dunkirk. We’ve got to stay here.” The angel was working himself into a righteous fury. Crowley stepped back from the burn of angelic essence emanating from his corporation. “We have to help hold the Germans for as long as we can. Give everyone else time to get to Dunkirk themselves.”

Crowley pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. He glanced around at the humans beginning to notice something not quite right with the blond-haired being currently leaking light in the middle of the street. Crowley took a deep breath and reached out to grasp Aziraphale’s sleeve with just the very tips of his fingers. They burned as he dragged the angel down an alley and out of sight. In the dark, Aziraphale burned brighter. Crowley let go of him, waving his hand through the air to ease the sting of demonic fingers touching angelic grace. 

“Aziraphale, if we stay here, _we’ll get discorporated._ ”

Aziraphale finally seemed noticed Crowley’s discomfort and reined in his essence with a slow blink of his eyes. He settled Crowley with a heavy gaze. “I can’t leave if there’s something I can do to help. You don’t have to stay with me. I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself in danger.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath. “But if you choose to stay, I would be grateful.”

Crowley looked at the angel helplessly. How could he say no? He could never leave Aziraphale in the middle of a war. Even when all of his instincts were screaming for him to get as far away from this future war zone as he could. Aziraphale didn’t, couldn’t, know this, but Crowley would do anything the angel asked of him. Aziraphale was still looking at him silently, waiting for his answer. 

“Tell me what you need me to do, angel.”

* * *

**Poperhinghe, France**

Aziraphale huffed as he dragged two unconscious men to the jeep were Crowley was waiting. The Germans had been attacking Calais for four days now, leaving the city buried in rubble. They had tried their best to help those they could, mostly by reinforcing protection on civilians. But with a city so large there was only so much that even an angel and a demon could do. 

“C’mon, angel! We don’t have much time!”

Aziraphale gently placed the two men onto the front hood of the jeep. He climbed up beside them and gestured for Crowley to go. They were making a last round, picking up what wounded they could find before following the rest of the British army in its retreat across the Yser canal to Dunkirk. The jeep Crowley had borrowed was filled with more bodies than it should have been able to hold, but there was always just enough space for every person they found. 

The jeep roared down the street, skipping over potholes as if they didn’t exist. Aziraphale held on tightly, trying not to vomit from Crowley’s erratic driving. He should have known the demon would be a menace on any road. And he’d call himself a good driver! Aziraphale planned to have words with him once they were safely out of the city. 

The road out of Calais was nearly empty now. All of the British and French forces were already miles out of the city, heading for the canal crossing at Poperinghe. Azirapahle and Crowley were just ahead of the German forces following behind. Aziraphale prayed that they would make it to the others before being caught in a fire fight. Again. 

A barricade was set up across the road. Crowley slowed to a stop as a French soldier came up to them, gun at the ready. He walked slowly around the jeep, and then waved them forward.

“Keep going,” he pointed. “The injured have priority crossing.”

Aziraphale smiled in thanks as Crowley drove them through the barricade. 

“What do you think that was about?” the demon called over the roar of the jeep engine.

“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out farther ahead.”

Crowley nodded grimly and pushed the jeep faster. Artillery tractors and lorries were pulled to the roadside allowing them to pass. It looked as if they had been stalled on the road for a while, if the bored faces of the drivers were anything to go by. Aziraphale didn’t understand why they were stopped. These trucks should have already been across the canal. Aziraphale felt a creeping dread crawl up his spine. 

Groups of weary soldiers trudged down the road. They watched grimly as Crowley drove past them. Their stares bored into Aziraphale, making him fidget uncomfortably. A groan from one of the unconscious soldiers beside him drew his attention. He turned to see to him, grateful for the distraction. 

“Easy, my dear,” Aziraphale soothed, placing a calming hand on his brow. The man settled again into unconsciousness. Aziraphale had made sure that all of the wounded they’d picked up slept soundly. He hadn’t wanted them to be uncomfortable before they could get to a human doctor. 

A Red Cross transport was stopped in the road. Crowley pulled to a stop behind them. He shot a confused frown at Aziraphale. 

“Why have we stopped?”

Aziraphale shrugged and jumped off the front of the jeep to peer down the line of stalled vehicles. “I’ll go see what I can find out.”

Crowley made a pained noise of protest, but Aziraphale walked down the line anyway. He passed the first few trucks emblazoned with a red cross on their sides. Many more vehicles transporting wounded soldiers were stalled along the road. Aziraphale squinted into the distance at the rising city of Poperinghe. He walked up to a Red Cross driver with a smile. “Hello, there! I was wondering if you knew why we were stopped?”

“Don’t know, do I?” the young woman behind the wheel said briskly. “But we’ve got soldiers that need a hospital, not a dirty road.”

Aziraphale grimaced in sympathy. “We’ve got our own jeep of wounded as well. We were some of the last out of Calais.”

The young woman looked him up and down and, finding him adequate, she leaned closer to him out the window. “There’s a rumor that we won’t all make it across the canal. Something about there’s only one bridge across.” She quirked her head, bemused. “Do you think that’s true, sir?”

Aziraphale glanced at the unmoving convoy. He turned back to the girl with a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we’ll get across just fine,” he said, adding more than a bit of his power to make the words true. “Be well.”

He moved off farther down the line. He hoped that they weren’t set in a course that led to a single canal crossing. If the Germans caught up with them before they made it across, it would be a massacre. Aziraphale prayed that would not happen. 

A low whine from above drew his attention to the sky. Through the clouds he could just make out a hint of metal. He squinted Heavenward, trying to see clearer. 

The shock wave knocked him off his feet. He righted himself quickly. Yelling came from up and down the line of trucks as bombs fell from the sky. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He looked back in the direction he had come and saw nothing but twisted metal. “Crowley!”

He raced back over the debris, amid the still-falling explosives. He barely noticed the ruins of the trucks as he passed. A feminine wrist was visible above the rubble, curving at an impossible angle. Aziraphale choked back a cry but continued on. Surely Crowley would have had the sense to shield himself and the others from any falling bombs. 

The jeep was not where Aziraphale had left it. His heart stopped beating so suddenly he tripped. His eyes skittered frantically over the road looking for a flash of red hair. The jeep was on its side in a ditch. He ran over to it. “Crowley!” he called again. A small groan came from beneath the jeep. He jumped down beside it. “Crowley! Thank God!” Aziraphale knelt beside him, checking him over for the injuries. He seemed perfectly fine. Aziraphale frowned. “Why didn’t you stop the bomb?”

“Didn’t feel it coming, did I?” Crowley groaned. He tried to move out from under the jeep but got nowhere. He looked up at Aziraphale pitifully. “I’m sstuck.”

Aziraphale sighed heavily. “Here, let me.” He grabbed the edge of the jeep and hefted it up enough for Crowley to slither out from beneath it. He dropped the vehicle back to the ground with a dull thud and then fell back onto his heels. 

“Did you just thank God for a demon?” Crowley wheezed beside him.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, shocked as the weight of his words hit him. “You know, I believe I did.” He scowled at Crowley, laughing uncontrollably beside him. “I was concerned. I just said the first thing that came to… Oh…”

Aziraphale froze. He’d glanced over Crowley’s shoulder at the destruction left by the bomb. Strewn all around them were the wounded he and Crowley had saved from Calais. Aziraphale didn’t know how he had missed them. He could feel that their souls were no longer there. A great hole seemed to bloom in his chest and out through his body, his eyes beginning to burn. How had he forgotten about them?

“Hey! Hey! Angel,” a soft voice called to him, followed by a burning hand on his arm. Crowley’s yellow eyes met his. He must have lost his glasses in the explosion. Aziraphale cast about on the ground for them. Crowley shook his arm to bring his eyes back to the demon’s. “I’m sorry, angel. I’m sorry, I couldn’t save them. It’s my fault, ok? This is my fault.”

“What? No!” Aziraphale shook his head. What was Crowley saying? This wasn’t _his_ fault. He’d just said that he hadn’t seen the bomb fall. This was Aziraphale’s fault for leaving them all behind. 

“Aziraphale, listen to me,” Crowley hissed, gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave a mark. “This wasn’t your fault. There was no way you could have known where the bombs were going to fall. We didn’t even know the Luftwaffe was going to follow us here.” 

“Well, it wasn’t your fault, either!”

Crowley gave him a look that said he knew but Aziraphale was being slightly ridiculous. Aziraphale was about to argue some more when the buzzing from before came back. They looked to the sky in tandem. More airplanes were flying overhead. Aziraphale let out a distressed whine. 

“Oh, not again,” Crowley groaned. 

Aziraphale looked farther up the line at the soldiers and Red Cross workers still alive and stuck in a traffic jam. He clambered roughly to his feet and pulled Crowley with him. He ran up the road, dragging the protesting demon behind him. He couldn’t do anything for those that were already gone, but could help those up ahead. He snapped his fingers as the next bombs fell, and the people waiting in the bombs’ paths found themselves transported out and across the river. The Luftwaffe bombs fell on empty vehicles.

“Angel, what did you do?!” Crowley, cried, still stumbling along behind Aziraphale. He was bound to have felt the power behind the miracle. Moving that many people that far took almost all of his reserves, but Aziraphale was determined to get the rest of the gridlocked army safely across the canal. He kept running through the destruction. 

Once clear of the smoke, he reached out with his senses to find the next set of soldiers waiting on the road. He raised his hand again and snapped his fingers with a sharp downward motion, pulling the power of Heaven into himself. His footsteps faltered at the rush of energy flowing through him. Crowley grabbed his elbow and hauled him back to his feet.

“Angel, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Crowley yelled through the chaos. He pulled Aziraphale to the side as a bomb exploded nearby. 

“I can’t leave those people unprotected!” Aziraphale argued. 

Crowley grimaced in exasperation. “There are other ways of helping them without killing yourself.” He waved his hand to the sky, redirecting a bomb to land ineffectively at the side of the road. Aziraphale blinked. He hadn’t thought to do that. 

“You go on,” Crowley said, pointing towards the city. “Help move things along. I’ll stay here and try to minimize the damage.”

Aziraphale looked helplessly from the rest of the stalled vehicles and then back to Crowley. The last thing he wanted was to be separated from Crowley, but the demon had a point. They could do so much more if they split up, just like they had in Calais. He placed a gentle hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Do be careful, my dear.”

Crowley nodded grimly and then disappeared into the smoke. Aziraphale watched him go before running up the road to Poperinghe. If he could just get to the front of the line, then maybe he could find a way to get these vehicles moving. 

The city was a riot of chaos. The Luftwaffe hadn’t yet made it this far, but the noise of the bombings outside the city had ignited a panic. Aziraphale was buffeted from all sides as he pushed through the throng of people on his way toward the bridge. By the time he finally made it, he was huffing for breath. 

A harried quartermaster was trying to wrangle some order from the pandemonium. Aziraphale walked up to him. 

“What can I do to help?”

The quartermaster looked him up and down shrewdly. “Well, Sergeant,” he drawled, “you can start by staying out of the way. We’ve got to get all of this,” he gestured expansively, “across this one measly bridge.”

Aziraphale frowned at the quartermaster in distaste. “Look, Major,” he said, infusing his voice with a bit of angelic persuasion, “I can help if you tell me what you need.”

The quartermaster blinked and handed over a clipboard. Aziraphale glanced over the information and then at the line of vehicles stuck in between the mass of troops scrambling to get across the canal. The trucks needed to move above anything else. He needed to get the people out of the way first. 

“Right, everyone!” he called out, his voice laced with angelic authority. People stopped moving as one to look at him expectantly. Aziraphale blinked, taken aback by their undivided attention. “I need everyone to please move to the left.” A great shuffling of feet accompanied his words. He smiled. “Thank you. Now, you lot,” he pointed to the idling trucks, “move on.”

The convoy finally began to move. Aziraphale sighed a breath of relief. He hoped that once across they would have the good sense to keep going. He watched fretfully as the first of the medical transports made it across the bridge. He needed to focus on keeping everything moving and turned back to help direct the flow of traffic. The panic from earlier had abated now that traffic was moving, but there was still a level of fear permeating the air. 

More people were coming, civilians and soldiers alike. Aziraphale kept an eye on them, making sure they stayed out of the way of the moving trucks. Aziraphale grinned over at the gobsmacked quartermaster. The man leaned bonelessly against the side of the bridge, mouth hanging open in shock. Aziraphale smirked.

“Job well done, I’d say,” Aziraphale said, lightly patting the man on the shoulder. 

Aziraphale left him propped against the bridge and walked back into the city. Aziraphale smiled to himself as traffic moved like a well-oiled machine. He looked out over the line of moving trucks, out past the city line where bombs were still falling. Oh, he did hope Crowley was keeping himself safe out there. 

The last of the Red Cross trucks finally made it to the bridge over the Yser canal. The driver pulled over next to Aziraphale. The young man called out to him. “Need a lift, sir?”

Aziraphale looked up sharply at the familiar voice. “Oh! Alvin!” he cried happily. “Thank goodness you’re safe.”

Private Alvin Hughes grinned. “It’ll take more than a few German bombs to do me in, sir.” Aziraphale smiled. Yes, he’d made sure of that, hadn’t he? Nevertheless, he said another blessing over the boy just to be safe. “Will you be wanting that lift, then?”

Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of his stomach, worrying the gold ring on his pinky finger. There were still so many people trying to cross the bridge, and Crowley had yet to make a reappearance. He needed to stay here, help get as many people to safety as he could. He turned back to Alvin. “No, thank you. I’ll catch the next one.”

“If you’re sure?” Alvin frowned, concerned. 

“I’m sure.” Aziraphale waved him on and watched as his truck made it safely across the canal.

Aziraphale looked back at the throng of people walking steadily towards the canal and then up at the sky. The Luftwaffe was still occupied with the gridlocked convoy outside of the city, but soon there would be nothing left to destroy. Aziraphale hoped that the majority of the foot soldiers and civilians would be out of the city by then. He couldn’t bear to see another Calais. 

He stood guard over the bridge, keeping a careful eye on the sky. Nearly all of the Allied soldiers made it across the Yser canal, their trucks and tanks the only casualties. Later, after they had made it home to Britain, soldiers would swear the bridge had been protected by an angel with great white wings. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Dunkirk, France**

Aziraphale diverted another bomb headed directly for the field hospital. It was the seventh in the last ten minutes. He hadn’t used this many miracles in such a short amount of time in centuries. Added to his duties as a medic, he was almost dead on his feet. And he hadn’t seen Crowley since they’d made it across the canal. He had gone to help hold back the attacking army. Aziraphale hoped he was keeping himself safe. 

Evacuations had started, but with the constant attack from both ground artillery and the Luftwaffe they had made very little progress. Fewer than 8,000 men had been sent back across the Channel, most of them able bodied. It was deemed too dangerous to try to move any of the wounded to the seawalls where the boats were docked. Aziraphale fretted. At this rate, not even a quarter of the British forces would be saved.

The noise from the shelling was beginning to get to Aziraphale. He jumped every time a bomb detonated, no matter how far way he sent it from the field hospital. He glanced around the tent once before walking out into the grey afternoon. He had to do something about the bombs. He _had_ to. 

He closed his eyes and reached out with his sense for Crowley. With a start, he realized that the demon was perched just outside of the field hospital he’d been working in. He turned around and found him leaning against a table set outside for the hospital personnel, smoking a cigarette as if the world was not falling down around him. Aziraphale marched up to him. 

“We have to do something.”

“Hello to you, too, angel,” Crowley drawled, pulling a slow drag from his cigarette. Aziraphale irritably waved away the cloud of smoke Crowley blew toward him. 

“If they keep up this constant bombardment, we’ll never get everyone out in time. _We_ might not get out in time.”

Aziraphale smothered a triumphant smirk when Crowley sat up. There were times when he was grateful for the Arrangement. He’d almost say he was better at tempting than Crowley, especially if the spark of interest in Crowley’s posture was anything to go by. 

“What do you propose we do, then?” Crowley asked slowly. “We can’t just miracle the German army back to Germany. There’d be questions neither one of us could answer.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Maybe not,” he said, the beginnings of an idea forming in his head, “but what if we could stop them?”

“Stop them? How?”

“We could send them false orders. Make the Germans think they’ve been ordered to stop. That will give us time to finish the evacuations.”

Crowley looked almost impressed. “That might work.” He leaned in closer to Aziraphale, leaning into their brainstorming. “But they might try to confirm those orders. I mean, _someone_ would think it was odd. An order to stop just as they’re set to take out their enemy?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Aziraphale mused, disheartened. He diverted another bomb with a flick of his fingers. “Do you think there’s any way to keep them from checking?”

“I don’t know, angel…”

“There’s got to be something we can do!” Aziraphale exclaimed, wringing his hands together. He looked to Crowley hopefully. “You have experience cutting communication wires. What if you did something like that?”

Crowley regarded him thoughtfully. “That could work. I mean, they can’t be that good, can they? Should be easy enough.”

“For you, of course!” Aziraphale agreed, a glint of excitement shining in his eyes. “You’ve done that before in less ideal circumstances than these.” 

“But what would you do?” Crowley asked. “Me cutting some wires isn’t going to do anything all by itself.”

“I’ll take care of the forged halt orders. Paperwork is paperwork, and I’m very good at it.” Aziraphale smirked. “I’ll just nip over to the German side and--” 

“I don’t know, angel.” Crowley frowned. “I don’t like you going over there alone.”

“Crowley,” Azirapahle sighed, “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.” Crowley opened his mouth to argue some more, but Aziraphale cut him off. “This could work, Crowley. Trust me.”

Crowley studied his face for a long moment. “All right, then. Let’s get to it, angel.”

* * *

“Yes, but wasting our ground forces in the bombardment of Dunkirk is pointless,” Aziraphale confided in _Generaloberst_ von Rundstedt. He’d been talking with von Rundstedt for hours now. He’d thought his best bet to stop the German advance would be to forge orders, but one look at the general in command of Army Group A had changed Aziraphale’s plan. The general was already frustrated with attacking the trapped Allied Forces. He thought it was a waste of good soldiers, when they could just as easily use the Luftwaffe to keep up the attack with fewer casualties. Aziraphale had taken the general’s doubts and used them as a temptation. Crowley would be proud. 

“You are correct, _Herr_ Fell,” von Rundstedt boomed, slapping Aziraphale on the back. He was glad of an ear willing to listen to him. He’d been saying these things for days. “I am glad High Command has deigned to send me someone with a head for strategy. I have been alone in this for too long.”

Aziraphale smiled. This was almost too easy. “I am only glad that I may be of assistance.” 

Von Rundstedt sighed and lifted his glass to his lips. “I only wish I could do something to stop the needless waste of soldiers. We’ve already got them surrounded.”

“Well,” Aziraphale murmured over his own glass, “why can’t you? You are the leader of Army Group A, are you not?”

Von Rundstedt looked at him sharply, distrust hardening his stare. Aziraphale flicked a quick pulse of reassurance, and the light returned to von Rundstedt’s eyes. He smiled. “You are full of excellent ideas, Herr Fell.”

In less than an hour, the halt order had been issued, and Dunkirk got its reprieve. 

* * *

For the first time in weeks, the night was quiet. Crowley almost couldn’t believe it. After months of constant fighting, now all he could hear was the crash of waves and the angel chattering away beside him as they sat drinking and congratulating themselves on the beach. 

Stopping German communications to the front had been child’s play. He hadn’t even needed to use a miracle. He’d just cut a few lines here and rewired a few lines there and presto! Nothing got through to anybody! Wires meant for Berlin were now being sent to Paris. It was bloody brilliant, if he said so himself. It would take days for their engineers to set everything to rights again. 

Aziraphale had been brilliant. Crowley was still cackling over the fact that the angel had _tempted_ the German general into giving the halt order. 

“It was hardly a temptation, my dear,” Aziraphale said, face blushing red. “It was for a good cause, so it was more like a,” he waved a lazy hand through the air, “a divine inspiration. It’s saving lives on both sides.”

Crowley smirked, leaning into Aziraphale suggestively. “So what you’re saying is that the ends justify the means?”

Aziraphale let out an indignant squawk as Crowley threw his head back, laughing so hard he fell onto his back in the sand. The angel reached for the bottle of wine wedged into the sand between them, waiting for Crowley get himself back under control. Crowley heaved a sigh, wiping tears from his eyes. He grew still on the beach, looking up into the night sky and the stars trying valiantly to be seen through the light pollution from the flood lamps on the seawalls, lighting the way for evacuating soldiers on their way to the boats. His voice was quiet. “I’m gonna have to think up a way to spin this back to Head Office.”

“I’ve actually been thinking about that,” Aziraphale said, twisting around to look down at Crowley. “I thought, you might tell them you cut German communications in the hopes of prolonging the war. Or something like that, anyway,” he added when Crowley made no sign of hearing him. “After all, if Germany defeats the Allies so soon, there’ll be nobody left to oppose them.”

Crowley said nothing, letting the rush of wave-song fill the silence. Then, softly, “I’ve thought that, too.” He removed his sunglasses to meet Aziraphale’s eyes in the semi-darkness. “What if we’ve done the wrong thing, angel? What if the people we save here don’t make up for what will come after?”

“We can’t think like that, Crowley,” Aziraphale said quickly, breaking their eye contact to look out over the sea again. Crowley squinted up at him.

“Alright.”

Aziraphale glanced back at him, sighing. He shook himself slightly, and then slowly and deliberately leaned back onto the sand to lie beside Crowley. “How long do you think we gave them? Two? Three days?”

“Maybe.”

“Long enough to finish the evacuations?”

“Could be.” Crowley clasped his hands behind his head.

Aziraphale fidgeted with the buttons on his uniform, shifting in the sand. “Do you think we should go help move things along?

“Nah.” Crowley settled more firmly back into the sand, getting comfortable. “We’ve already done our part today. Let them work tonight. We can’t do everything for them.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The sand shifted again as Aziraphale turned his head towards Crowley. “So, what do you plan to do once we’re back in London? I don’t think I ever asked.”

“Well,” Crowley grinned to the sky, “I’ve still got a date with an angel for lunch at the Ritz.” Aziraphale huffed, trying to hide his blush. “And I’m gonna sleep in my own bed. Satan, but I’ve missed sleeping in an actual bed. All this roughing it isn’t for me.”

Aziraphale hummed. “I’m not much for sleep, but this war has been rather uncomfortable.”

“That, angel, is an understatement, if I’ve ever heard one,” Crowley drawled. 

Crowley rolled onto his side to watch Aziraphale laugh. He pillowed his hands under his head. The sand was still warm from the sun, and the waves were starting to lull him to sleep. He felt safe here, with Aziraphale lying next to him. He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open. 

“Go to sleep, my dear,” Aziraphale’s soft voice washed over him. He gave in and closed his eyes. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Dunkirk, France**

A clawed hand wound its way around Crowley’s throat, pulling him violently against an unyielding body. His scream died in his throat. He moved to try to dislodge his assailant, but a sharp, stabby something that felt threateningly like a knife was digging dangerously close to his left kidney. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The voice slipped into his ear like quicksand promising to drag him underground. Crowley’s blood froze in his veins. He could honestly say that he’d been expecting this. There was no way that he and Aziraphale could have used the amount of power they had to stop the Germans and go unnoticed. Especially not by the one being in Europe who had such a vested interest in making sure that as many people died in this war as possible.

Instead, Crowley relaxed, going nearly limp in War’s grip, and grinned easily. “Lovely seeing you here again.”

War growled and flipped him around. She grabbed the lapels of his uniform and slammed him into the wall. Lights flashed in Crowley’s eyes as his head made contact. War bared her teeth. “Didn’t we have an agreement, demon? You were supposed to let me have my fun and then I learn that my carefully planned army has just decided to stop fighting?” 

“I am letting you have your fun,” Crowley said quickly. “I’m helping you, even.”

War turned her head to the side, eyeing him distrustfully. “How is stopping a German victory helping me, demon?”

“Well,” Crowley began slowly, trying to come up with something good enough to keep himself in France and still in his body, “this way the war doesn’t end so soon, does it? I mean, if Germany had completely wiped out the Allies here then that’s it. No more killing. No more humans dying in war, yeah?”

War relaxed her grip on him and leaned away thoughtfully. Crowley took this as a good sign and pushed his point.

“I mean, this kind of thing could drag out the war for _years._ Think about it.” He waved his hands in front of himself expansively. “Sure, France will have fallen but Britain is still out there. And they’re a stubborn little people. Believe me, I know. There’s no way they would ever just,” he shrugged, “let somebody invade their country. Not without a pretty big fight.”

“Not bad, demon.” War grinned and smoothed her hands down the front of his uniform. She was still leaning uncomfortably close to him, but he’d take what he could get. “But how did you get the angel to help you?”

Crowley gulped. He had hoped that she had missed that. “Um, well, you see,” his gaze skittered around him, trying to find some way to escape. Finding none, he told the truth. “He thinks that this will save people.”

War laughed long and hard. She nearly collapsed against him in her mirth. Crowley chuckled nervously with her. He felt a twinge of guilt for betraying Aziraphale like this, but he thought the angel would forgive him if it meant they would get to avoid discorporation by War. 

“Poor Aziraphale,” she wheezed once she had finished. “He always was so naive. Well, then,” she patted him softly on his cheek. “Carry on.”

She sauntered away from him, chuckling to herself. Crowley thanked whoever was listening that she had believed his bluff. He turned towards the field hospitals. He had to find Aziraphale and get out of here. 

* * *

“Aziraphale. Put the human down. We need to talk.”

Aziraphale nearly dropped his end of the stretcher he was carrying. He looked to his right to find Gabriel standing a short way off, looking stern and fierce in a British General’s uniform. Aziraphale glanced back to Alvin on the other end of the stretcher. They had been moving wounded soldiers to the boats nonstop since the bombing had stopped. Aziraphale had hoped that they could evacuate all of them before his and Crowley’s miracles on the German army wore off. With Gabriel here, it looked like their time was running short. The Archangel looked murderous. 

Aziraphale motioned for Alvin to set the stretcher on the ground. “Go and find another orderly. I’ll be back shortly.”

Alvin glanced nervously between Aziraphale and the general he had never seen before, reluctant to leave his friend in trouble. Aziraphale smiled at him with a nod and a small wave of reassurance, sending him on his way. Gabriel scowled.

“I thought we agreed there were to be no frivolous miracles, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale turned and began to walk away from Gabriel and the other soldiers. He needed to get Gabriel alone. He didn’t think he was going to come out of this conversation unscathed and doubted he would have the energy to keep the humans from listening in. And Gabriel wouldn’t think to keep them invisible from prying eyes. 

Once he felt they were far enough away, Aziraphale turned to smile pleasantly at Gabriel. “What did you need to speak with me about?”

If Gabriel had been angry before, he was absolutely furious now. He crowded into Aziraphale, glaring down at him. “What do you think you’re doing here, Aziraphale? I’ve got a list a mile long of miracles you’ve used just in the past two days! Your job was to find the demon Crowley and stop him. Not go around Europe helping one set of humans kill another!”

On a normal day, Aziraphale might have been cowed by Gabriel’s vitriol. But Aziraphale had spent the last month in the middle of a war with all its sorrows and watched as children of the Almighty were slaughtered in front of him. He drew himself up to his full height.

“My job,Gabriel,” he said slowly, deliberately, daring the Archangel to interrupt him, “is to protect and guide humanity. I am the Principality Aziraphale. You sent me into the midst of a war and told me to go against my Creator’s purpose for me and ignore the suffering around me.” Gabriel’s eyes twitched almost imperceptibly. “I did what you asked of me. I found the demon Crowley and I neutralized the threat he posed. And now I am doing what I was created for and protecting those humans that I can. And sometimes that involves the use of what you would deem ‘frivolous miracles,’ but I _will_ help these people escape from this beach if I am able,” Aziraphale finished with a huff. 

Gabriel’s face was a stony visage of disapproval. “Do what you will, then, Aziraphale, if you feel that this is your purpose. But this will not be the last we speak of this.”

A crack of thunder boomed in Aziraphale’s ear as a blinding light struck from the Heavens. He looked with dread at the now-empty spot of charred earth where Gabriel had stood. What had he done? 

“Oh, dear.” 

* * *

**Dunkirk**

**2 June 1940**

Still shaken from his encounter with War, Crowley stumbled through the mass of bodies moving steadily towards the beaches and boats bound for England. Distantly, he thought that he should have instructed a boat to wait for him and Aziraphale. They’d made it this far in this farce of a war. It would be ridiculous if they missed their chance to finally go home. 

Crowley smelled the temporary field hospital before he saw it. His nose wrinkled in disgust. He didn’t know how the angel could stand being surrounded by so much blood and death. It turned Crowley’s stomach and he was a _demon_. 

Crowley strolled down the line of beds to where Aziraphale was leaning over a badly burned young man. The angel didn’t seem to notice Crowley until he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Aziraphale, we need to talk.”

“Not now, Crowley.” Aziraphale knocked Crowley’s hand off of his shoulder and continued to clean the young man’s burn wounds. 

“Yes, now,” Crowley hissed. He grabbed Aziraphale’s arm to try to pull him away. “This is important!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale jerked his arm from the demon’s grasp. He pointed around the tent at the beds filled with injured men. “ _This_ is important!”

Crowley grit his teeth. He needed Aziraphale to understand what kind of danger they were in. He took a deep breath and said gently, “Angel, War is here and she’s not happy.”

Aziraphale’s movements faltered. He glanced quickly to Crowley and nodded. He finished applying the last of the bandages on the burned man and then guided Crowley out of the tent.

Outside, the angel wrung his hands absently. “What can we do?”

Crowley grimaced. “Not much. I talked her out of discorporating us, barely. You’re welcome, by the way.” Crowley couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale nodded, skipping over Crowley’s tone. “But I meant about everyone else. Will there be enough time to get everyone out?” 

Crowley growled in frustration. “Angel, to Hell with everyone else! We’ve got to get out of here before War changes her mind and comes back for us.” He shook Aziraphale slightly. “War is very, very angry at us. We can’t stay here.” 

Aziraphale shook his head stubbornly. “How much time do you think we have for the evacuations?”

“Angel!”

“How much time, Crowley!” he nearly shouted. 

Crowley looked around helplessly. Why was Aziraphale so stubborn? Couldn’t he see how much danger they were in? One wrong move and they would be discorporated. War didn’t play around. Aziraphale was still staring at him expectantly. Crowley sighed. “I don’t know. A day. Maybe two.”

Aziraphale frowned, thinking. “That’s not nearly enough time to get everyone out. Especially the wounded.“ He looked up at Crowley, eyes wide and guileless, the beginnings of a pout on his lips. “Is there anything we can do?”

Crowley knew that look. The ‘please, Crowley’ look. It said, “I know this situation looks hopeless, but surely _you_ could think of something, couldn’t you? For me?” Crowley’s breath left his chest in a rush. There wasn’t anything _anyone_ could do. 

“We can leave before we get killed.”

Aziraphale’s scowl would have turned lesser beings to stone. “That isn’t an option, Crowley,” he said icily. “I’m not leaving. Not when there are wounded men who need my help. If they can’t be evacuated, they’ll need medics to stay behind to care for them.”

“But you’re not a medic!” Crowley cried. He _had_ to get the angel to go with him. Leaving him would mean leaving him to die. And Crowley wouldn’t allow that. Not after everything they’d already been through in this stupid war. “You’re an angel on assignment to find a demon. I’m here! You found me! We can go!”

Aziraphale stared sadly at Crowley. Quietly and calmly he said, “I’m not leaving, Crowley.”

Crowley growled and threw his hands in the air. “Fine! Fine! Stay here! See if I care! But I’m leaving!” 

He turned on his heel and walked away. Stupid angel. Stupid war! Crowley was going to get out of here before he couldn’t. He’d see Aziraphale when he saw him.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley lounged against the side of the fishing boat he had decided would be his ride home. He’d smirked at the name: _Eden_. How fitting that the Serpent of Eden would stow away on this boat back to safety. 

Corporal Mason, his batman, was organizing the rest of their unit onto the boat. Everyone was accounted for except for Aziraphale and his medic. Mason had asked once about them, but Crowley’s snarl had sent him scurrying away. Crowley didn’t want to think about the angel. He had given him the chance to leave, and Aziraphale had thrown it back in his face. 

All was still quiet, except for the occasional air raid dropping bombs on mostly empty tanks and trucks. It seemed that they would have time to evacuate the last of the British Expeditionary Forces and their wounded before the shelling began again in earnest. Crowley was surprised. He’d expected War to escalate the fighting as soon as she could.

The low whine that accompanied the arrival of the Luftwaffe drew his attention to the sky. He watched lazily as they flew towards the artillery depot. The bombs would take out more of the BEF’s equipment, but there would be few casualties. Crowley turned away, not wanting to watch, but a single plane split off from the main group, flying directly over the field hospitals. Crowley followed the plane’s trajectory in horror, willing it to turn back, to rejoin the rest of its brethren in destroying useless military objects, not--

The bombs fell unerringly onto the mass of tents and the wounded taking shelter there. 

“Oh my God,” someone lamented behind him, shocked. Bile rose in Crowley’s throat. “That was the hospital.”

Crowley was halfway across the beach before his thoughts resurfaced from a wave of blind panic. He had to find Aziraphale. He had to make sure that he was safe. How had he thought he could leave him behind?

He pushed his way through the evacuating soldiers, scanning each face for a flash of blue eyes. Maybe the field hospital had been completely evacuated by now and Aziraphale was already on a boat bound for safety. But a small tug in his chest kept Crowley searching. His angel was still here somewhere. _But where?_

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted over the clamor. “Angel! Where are you?”

A small flash of divinity caught the edge of his mind, and he turned to chase it. The spark grew stronger as Crowley neared the area where the field hospital had been. His eyes skittered frantically over the carnage. 

There. A figure on the edge of the scorched ground knelt over another. A bright red cross could still be seen underneath the dirt on the kneeling man’s helmet. Crowley felt another, stronger wave of divinity wash over him. He scrambled across the debris to reach them.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out, but the man didn’t look up from the wounded soldier in front of him. Crowley could see, now, that it was indeed Aziraphale. He felt a vice loosen in his chest at the sight of his white-blond curls poking out from beneath his helmet. Crowley would recognize Aziraphale’s profile anywhere. He collapsed onto his knees beside the angel and pulled on his arm. “Angel! We have to go!”

“No!” Aziraphale snarled, shaking him off. “Not yet!”

Bombs were still falling worryingly close by. Crowley concentrated on keeping them just far enough away to avoid immediate danger. But he couldn’t hold them back forever. He had to get Aziraphale out of here.

“Please,” a wet voice choked out, drawing Crowley’s attention to the fallen soldier for the first time. Crowley felt the blood drain from his face. Oh, damn… It was Aziraphale’s kid. “I want to go home.”

“Shh, now, Alvin,” Aziraphale soothed, smoothing a miraculously clean hand over the boy’s forehead. “Everything will be all right, now. You’ll be fine.”

Crowley flinched at the lie. Alvin was covered in blood. If he had been found by anyone other than an angel, he would have been gone by now. But looking at the scope of the boy’s injuries, Crowley knew that even an angel’s miracles would be of no help. Still, Aziraphale pumped more and more of his energy into keeping Alvin alive. 

“Angel, please,” Crowley tried again, closing his eyes against the young soldier’s suffering. “We have to go.”

“I’m not leaving him, Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped, running his hands over the worst of the wounds on the boy’s body. They seemed never-ending. 

Crowley laid a gentle hand over Aziraphale’s wrist, drawing his almost frantic movements to a halt. “You can’t save him, Aziraphale,” he said softly, almost choking on the words. 

Aziraphale finally turned to him, his blue eyes wide and shining with tears. “Then help me save him, Crowley… Please.”

Crowley breathed deeply, glancing up toward the sky, and then nodded. He let go of Aziraphale’s wrist to place his hands atop of the angel’s, still resting on Alvin’s chest. He concentrated, sending all of the healing energy he had through Airaphale’s hands and into the wounded boy’s body. They stopped the bleeding but Alvin wasn’t safe yet. 

“He’s stable, now,” Crowley said, stepping to the other side of the now-unconscious Alvin. It was for the best that he wasn’t awake now, Crowley thought. The trek back to the beach would be unbearable if Alvin were to wake. Crowley lifted the boy’s torso from the ground, slinging a limp arm over his shoulder while supporting the boy’s leg with his opposite arm. “We can take him back with us, but we have to leave now, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded, drawing Alvin’s other arm across his own shoulders and placing an arm beneath the other leg as Crowley had done. With a grunt, they stood, carrying the boy between them. “Thank you, Crowley.”

Alvin wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward keeping him suspended between them as they picked their way across the pock-marked ground. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to steer them correctly as he kept an eye on the sky and any German bombs might fall. 

Men parted easily for Aziraphale and Crowley as they carried their charge along the beach. Crowley nearly sighed in relief as he set his eyes on the boat he had instructed to wait for him earlier. Not long now and they would be making their way back to England and safety. Crowley smiled over at Aziraphale. 

“Almost home, angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled in relief. He opened his mouth to reply but his words were drowned out by a high-pitched whine. Before Crowley realized what that meant he was tossed across the sand like a rag doll.

* * *

A ringing brought Crowley back to himself as he opened his eyes to an impossible blue. He could feel the ground rumbling beneath him. Where was he? He turned his head to see boots silently running across the sand towards a boat-filled beach. The boats!

“Aziraphale!” he cried, sitting up much too fast for his spinning head. He spotted a dirty blond head lying a few feet away. He crawled over to it. “Aziraphale…”

The angel’s hair was matted with blood. Crowley rolled the angel onto his back and cried out. “No, no, no, angel, no…”

Aziraphale was drenched in blood, not all of it his own, Crowley sensed, but enough to cause worry. Crowley looked for a wound to heal, but the angel’s essence seemed to be spilling from everywhere. A large gash on Aziraphale’s head seemed to be bleeding the most, so Crowley passed a hand over it to heal it. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open. He coughed wetly. 

“Angel,” Crowley said urgently. He grabbed Aziraphale’s face between his hands. “You have to help me, Aziraphale. I can’t heal you on my own.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s blue eyes were barely open, but they looked up at Crowley with worry. “I… I don’t think I can.”

“Yes, you can,” Crowley urged. “You have to.”

Aziraphale shook his head but his eyes were clearer. He tried to look beyond Crowley. “Where’s Alvin?” 

Crowley glanced around them and spotted Aziraphale’s medic. Crowley swallowed. Alvin’s body was twisted in such a way that he knew the boy was long gone. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “He’s gone.” 

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, tears filling his eyes. Crowley noticed more blood coming from the angel’s chest. He placed both his hands over it to try to stop the bleeding. A weak hand found its way to Crowley’s face. “You should go, Crowley.”

Crowley shook his head angrily. “I’m not leaving you, Aziraphale,” Crowley nearly sobbed. Another shell landed a few hundred yards away. Crowley covered Aziraphale’s body with his own as sand showered down around them. “You’re gonna be fine, angel. We’re both gonna get out of here.”

Blood was now dribbling out of Aziraphale’s mouth. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. He blinked and slowly rubbed his thumb beneath Crowley’s eye. His breath was erratic. “Crowley, please…go.”

Crowley ignored him and tried to heal him. He’d sworn to himself that he would not be leaving Aziraphale behind. No stupid human bomb was going to stop him. But there was so much blood pouring from Aziraphale’s chest, and the angel wasn’t even trying to help. Crowley put his hands over the giant hole in Aziraphale’s chest and sent all his healing energy into him. Nothing changed. Crowley growled. He’d used all of his energy on that _stupid boy!_ He tried harder. “ _Heal, damn you!_ ”

Another shell dropped closer and broke Crowley’s concentration as he shielded Aziraphale’s body from the falling debris. When the air had cleared Aziraphale’s eyes were closed and his body had stopped breathing. Crowley scrambled to feel for a pulse. Nothing.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley wept, pressing his hands into the sticky blood on Aziraphale’s motionless chest. “Wake up! Wake up, damn you!” Aziraphale wouldn’t move. Crowley panicked. He shook the angel mercilessly. If Aziraphale would just wake up everything would be all right.

Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and jerked him away from his angel. He fought back but the hands’ grip was firm. “Come on, Captain. There’s nothing you can do. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“No! I’m not leaving him!” Crowley shouted. He recognized the voice but he would not be leaving Aziraphale here alone. “Angel, get off your lazy arse and wake up!”

He continued to fight as he was dragged farther away, screaming for the angel to just _get up!_ His captor stumbled as a great splash flew up from a falling shell, and Crowley finally broke free enough to elbow his captor in the stomach and make a run back for Aziraphale. He’d almost made it when his world went black. 


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley woke to a pounding headache. The world around him was rocking to and fro in a nausea-inducing nightmare. He opened his eyes to discern his surroundings only to close them against an unnaturally bright light. He rubbed his hand over his face, searching for his glasses. He groaned. He must have dropped them somewhere on the beach. 

His eyes shot open despite the sharp, staccato pain dancing around in his head. Aziraphale was still on that beach. He had to go back. 

A calloused hand on his forehead stopped him from getting up. He growled, but his strength had left him, and the hand easily kept him lying down. 

“Easy there, lad,” a gruff voice chided him. “You’ve a nasty head wound there. Might be concussion, too.”

Crowley concentrated on bringing the owner of the voice into focus. An older sun tanned man in civilian fishing clothes had his hands on Crowley’s head and shoulders in an attempt to keep him still. He looked down at Crowley with a concern Crowley wasn’t sure he deserved. Slowly, he looked around him at the faces of the dead-eyed soldiers crammed into the fishing vessel with him. None were the face Crowley wanted to see. 

“We have to go back,” he croaked.

“We’re nearly home, lad,” the old man chuckled nervously. “We aren’t about to go back now.”

Quick as lightning, Crowley had the old man by the lapels of his mackintosh. “You lissten to me,” he hissed, infusing his voice with a great deal of demonic persuasion. “You will turn this boat around _now_ and take me back to find Aziraphale!”

For a moment the old man looked like he was about to do just that, but then he blinked and gently pulled Crowley’s hands from his coat. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, his voice as rough as gravel. “We’ve all had to leave someone behind, but we aren’t going back.”

Crowley was about to redouble his efforts when he noticed a familiar face hovering gently over the old man’s shoulder. It was his batman, Corporal Mason. Memories of the beach came flooding back as the corporal shifted from foot to foot. 

“You hit me,” Crowley drawled tonelessly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Mason said, stepping forward at being addressed. He was wringing his hands, his eyes darting around him for help. Suddenly he straightened and looked Crowley defiantly in the eye. “You wouldn’t come, sir. I’m sorry I hit you, but you wouldn’t come.” Crowley scowled and Mason softened. “I’m sorry about your friend, Captain Crowley, but he was gone. We checked.”

Crowley felt bile rise in his throat and quickly swallowed it down. Aziraphale was gone. He laid back down and turned his back to Corporal Mason and all the rest. His head hurt. His back hurt. His chest hurt.

His heart hurt. 

Aziraphale…was gone.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep before his tears had a chance to fall. 

* * *

**Military Convalescent Home, England**

When he next woke, Crowley found himself lying in a clean bed in clean clothes. A very pretty dark-haired nurse was moving among the other beds on the ward. She noticed Crowley was awake and smiled. 

“How good of you to join us, Captain Crowley,” she said in a posh accent. _Great_ , Crowley thought, _a Lady nurse_. He propped himself up on an elbow, and she marched over to him in concern. “Careful, now, you still have quite the bump on your head.” 

“How--” Crowley croaked but his words were swallowed by a wracking cough. The nurse poured him a glass of water and he gladly accepted it. He drank until his throat didn’t feel like it was full of glass. He tried again. “How long have I been asleep?”

The nurse pursed her lips and snatched the empty glass from his slack fingers. “Nearly two weeks.”

Crowley fell back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. With a snap of his fingers the nurse, who had been in the middle of scolding him for flopping down on his still-bruised head, forgot that he existed and moved to see to the other patients on the ward.

Two weeks. He had been asleep for two weeks. He squinted up at a stain on the corner of the ceiling. Usually, two weeks wouldn’t be enough time to fill out all of the paperwork that was required to get a new body. But there was a war on. And Aziraphale had been quite clear that Heaven wanted him on the front lines of this one. Surely they would have fast-tracked his request for a new corporation. With any luck, Aziraphale was already puttering about in his bookshop. 

Mind made up, Crowley got up from his bed and snapped his fingers. His hospital-issued pajamas were replaced by a neat black suit and matching fedora. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a pair of round sunglasses. He plucked them on his nose and walked unnoticed out of the hospital’s front door. 

Crowley expected his hospital to be in London and when he stepped outside, it was. He raised a lazy hand and got into the cab before it had come to a complete stop by the curb. He gave the driver the address to A. Z. Fell and Co. and then leaned back in his seat. He watched London pass by until the blurry streets hurt his eyes.

Crowley was going to give Aziraphale a piece of his mind when he saw him. Crowley had said if they stayed in France, one of them was going to get discorporated. He had been right. He was going to rub that in Aziraphale’s face so hard that maybe next time the stupid angel might listen to him. 

The cab pulled to a stop far sooner than Crowley had expected. The sign on the shop door said “Closed,” but Aziraphale had always kept odd hours so Crowley wasn’t overly worried. He threw a pound note far larger than the fare into the front seat and got out of the cab. The driver would use the extra money for drink, and who was Crowley to deny the man such a vice?

He strode up the sidewalk and pushed open the obligingly unlocked door, the bell tinkling merrily over his head. He stepped gingerly into the bookshop.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out into the darkened shop. No answer. Crowley shrugged. The angel would sometimes become so engrossed in a book that it took nothing short of a miracle to draw his attention away. The dusty bookshelves muffled Crowley’s footsteps as he moved farther into the shop. 

“Angel?” But the backroom where Aziraphale liked to read was similarly empty. Crowley’s heart began to beat faster, but he told it to shut up with a snarl. He looked around for any sign that Aziraphale had been here recently. The dust on every surface didn’t mean much of anything. Aziraphale liked to keep his shop dusty to deter customers. On his second circuit of the room Crowley saw a single envelope sitting in the middle of Aziraphale’s desk. It was unaddressed but Crowley snatched it up, ripping it open as he dropped gracelessly into the angel’s chair. 

_Gone to France. Sent to find some sort of demonic activity making its way around Europe. I shouldn’t worry. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, no doubt._

_A. Z. Fell_

It was dated three months ago. Crowley crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it across the room. He bent over, his head in his hands. He breathed deeply, tugging sharply at his hair and willing his stupid human corporation to _be normal._

Aziraphale had just been discorporated. Getting a new body took time. Especially in Heaven. Crowley knew this. Aziraphale always complained about the absurd amount of paperwork they expected him to fill out. Aziraphale would be back, given time. All Crowley had to do was wait. 

Crowley sat up. He could wait. He was good at waiting on the angel. Hell, he was the best at it. He looked over to the cupboard where Aziraphale kept his wine. Well, if he was going to be waiting for Aziraphale to get back to Earth, the least the angel could do was spare some wine. Crowley stumbled over to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle at random. He settled back into Aziraphale’s chair. He’d wait for the angel. No problem. 

* * *

The shop bell tingled in the front room, jingling Crowley out of his drunken stupor. He lifted his head from the sofa, pulling off a piece of paper stuck to his face. He stared at it stupidly until he realized it was Aziraphale’s letter. He felt the slight sting that came from being near an angel of the Lord. He sobered up quickly. He couldn’t afford to let an angel other than Aziraphale sneak up on him defenseless. 

Crowley quietly slinked into the front shop, unnoticed. The intruder had his back to Crowley and the backroom. He was taking off his coat to hang it on the coat rack by the front door. The stranger removed his hat to reveal a riot of white-blond curls, and Crowley nearly wept in relief. 

“Angel.”

Aziraphale turned in surprise, his face melting in genuine delight. “Oh, Crowley! You made it back to London.” He walked over to where Crowley was still leaning against the door frame into the backroom. “I did worry that that bomb had gotten you, too. Oh, we were so close to making it to the boats! It was quite frustrating, I can tell you. And Alvin! Do you know what happened to him? I’m afraid I lost track of him in all the hubbub.”

Crowley continued to stare at Aziraphale through his entire speech, blinking slowly and barely believing his eyes. Aziraphale was back. And he looked just the same as Crowley remembered. 

“Angel,” he said again. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale smirked, taking in Crowley’s disheveled appearance. “I am an angel. Well spotted, my dear.”

Crowley’s face crumpled and he moved to hide it in Aziraphale’s shirt. The angel barely had time to catch Crowley before he fell on him with great hiccupping sobs rattling through his body. Aziraphale held onto him tightly, running a soothing hand through Crowley’s hair until he had calmed to small sniffles. Crowley’s tears had ruined Aziraphale’s jacket, but he didn’t care. He could always miracle the angel a new one.

“There now, my dear,” Aziraphale said once he was sure that Crowley could hear him. “There’s no need for such a fuss.”

Crowley pulled back to stare at him accusingly. “Angel, you died! There’s a need for a fuss!”

“I didn’t die,” Aziraphale huffed, rolling his eyes. “It was merely a discorporation. It was rather unpleasant but no harm done.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s new corporation. Really looked at it. He saw no sign of the wounds that had littered the angel’s body back on the beach at Dunkirk. Aziraphale was whole and new and here. 

Slowly, gently, Crowley reached out his hand and placed it over Aziraphale’s chest where all of his life’s blood had escaped before. The angel was solid beneath his hand. He clutched at the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt. “Angel,” he breathed. 

Aziraphale place his hand over Crowley’s, holding it against his chest. He swallowed, the click in his throat loud in the quiet of the bookshop. “I know, Crowley. I know.” He let his fingers trace lines on the back of Crowley’s hand until he relaxed his hold on Aziraphale’s shirt. “Crowley, my dear, I’m fine. Everything is all right now.” 

Crowley let his hand be held for a moment longer and then jerked it away. He strolled across the bookshop as if the last few minutes had never happened. They had come perilously close to a line they shouldn’t cross. Crowley sucked in a deep breath. “Care for some lunch, angel?” he called over his shoulder with a smirk. 

Aziraphale brightened at the mention of food. “You know,” he said following Crowley to the front of the shop again and donning his hat and coat once more, “I had the most terrible craving for deviled eggs while I was in Heaven. I got quite the disapproving look when I mentioned it.” 

Crowley laughed and held the door. Things were getting back to normal. The humans were still at it with their war, but Crowley had Aziraphale back in London with him. That wasn’t so terrible. “Come on, angel. I know a place that has the best deviled eggs you’ve ever eaten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Be sure to check out Electra Rhodes gorgeous [artwork](https://twitter.com/electra_rhodes/status/1222206558685290496)!


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